


Blood and Stone

by Seldarius



Series: Phryniverse [3]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, black diamond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-08-24 22:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 53,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16649248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seldarius/pseuds/Seldarius
Summary: When a gruesome murder threatens to derail Dot and Hugh's wedding, Miss Fisher and the Inspector have only six days to solve the mystery. In the middle of prenuptial madness, under the watchful eyes of an irritable priest and with Jack cracking under the weight of his dark past, Phryne has her hands full to find the killer and save the wedding day.





	1. Aquamarine

**Author's Note:**

> On special request I have chosen to copy my old fics over from fanfiction. This one was originally published between Dec 23, 2013 and Jan 22, 2014.

He was woken by a pair of lips ghosting over his ear. It took Jack a moment to realise that he was not dreaming anymore - She was still there. In fact, Miss Fisher was rather hard to miss, her face only inches from his and it took some crossing of eyes to focus on Phryne's face. She was grinning and Jack groaned inwardly. Dear God, she was in a good mood. Detective-Inspector Robinson was not what you would particularly call a morning person. Neither was Miss Fisher, but her mornings usually happened to be a whole lot later in the day, which meant she generally avoided the motion of waking up early and with a lack of sleep altogether. Today however it was Sunday and from the sound of the birds outside, Jack gathered it was hardly 8 o'clock. And she was awake _and_ smiling! That could only mean one thing – he was in trouble.

And so he was, as her fingertips had begun to draw mesmerizing circles on his chest.

“Phryne.” He croaked, his voice hoarse with sleep.

“Inspector?” She murmured, somewhere from the direction of his shoulder. Jack let his eyes flutter shut.

“You are aware I am an old man?” He asked, his resistance already approaching the life expectancy of an ice cube in the Australian sun.

“I beg to differ, Jack.”

A gentle bite into his neck let him gasp. Alright, possibly he was not quite old enough to stop the hormones from flooding his veins whenever she did that. Without opening his eyes, he reached out for her, attempting to pull her into a kiss but was surprised when instead she grabbed his arm in a firm grasp, denying this notion. Questioningly he lifted his lashes to look at her and found that she was busy, slipping a thin black belt around his wrist and fastening it with talented fingers. The Inspector raised his eyebrows but didn't protest. He searched his soul in vain for any shreds of surprise, but truthfully, leaving him help- and quite often speechless had been Miss Fisher's favourite game from the day they'd met, so this was really just an embodiment of the dance they had been celebrating for two years. Nevertheless he felt a spike of excitement as the black silk slipped around his second wrist. It seemed oddly forbidden. Her eyes searched out his, dark in contrast to the aquamarine morning light falling through the closed curtains. She was asking for his permission, his trust and with a tiny nod he gave it. When Miss Fisher leaned over him to tie the belt to the iron bed frame, he felt a second rush and at the same time the tiniest of regrets for being unable to reach out and pull her closer. But it was too late for that, his arms were firmly fastened over his head and the Inspector tried to not think about just how she had learned to do this. Phryne left him no time for dark thoughts. She brushed a kiss to his forehead in an effort to let the worried creases melt away. Jack found he was holding his breath, as she lightly ran her lips over his face, finally reaching his mouth and pressing a soft but lingering kiss to it before pulling back without giving him a chance to deepen it. He groaned in frustration, shifting slightly. Miss Fisher smiled and ran gentle fingertips down his neck, rejoicing in the way he lifted his chin to grant her better access. Her hand wandered down further, to his utter annoyance avoiding his nipple and instead finding the scar between his ribs where he had been shot when he was still a young Constable, believing it to be heroic to hurl himself onto an armed criminal. Her fingers traced over the familiar bump in his skin before she pressed her lips to it and thanked God once again in silence that the bullet had missed his heart by a few centimeters. He watched her with dark eyes as she continued her journey down to the little unevenness near his navel, where he had blocked a German knife with his stomach, landing him in a war ambulance for several weeks just to be sent back into hell. Jack had never talked about those events before he had ended up in Phryne's house, arms and bed. He still didn't like to, those were hurtful memories etched onto the back of his mind. But she drew from him whatever she wanted, as she always had and to his utter astonishment he found that talking to her actually soothed the dull pain somewhat.

“This one you never told me about.” She stated, rubbing over a tiny blemish on his left arm.

“That was the most heroic of them all, Miss Fisher. A try to help my mother bake bread at the tender age of 5.”

A wry smile accompanied this and Phryne felt the need to wipe it away by bringing her lips to his. Jack arched himself up as far as his restraints would allow and deepened the kiss, but again she pulled back with a mischief grin on her face, caressing another one of his numerous scars, this one near his wrist, where a piece of shrapnel had graced him back in Flanders, while killing the man beside him.

“I do not understand why you insist on paying them attention, Miss Fisher.” He said, without tearing his watchful eyes from her.

“Because they are your wounds and they haven't healed yet.” She answered in a voice that stated that this was to explain everything. The Inspector pondered this for a moment, a small smile spreading over his lips.

“As it is the nature of scars, I doubt they ever will.”

Now, she finally looked up.

“That makes them a part of you then and they deserve as much attention as the rest.”

Jack Robinson didn't point out that the remainder of his body was rather neglected at this stage, as she chose this very moment to slip the sheet off him which had covered his lower half up till now. The cold air ghosting over his skin reminded him in what a vulnerable position he was and he had to bite back a moan. With a look at Jack's hooded eyes, Phryne decided to finally show mercy on his desires rather than explore him any further. Though she did love the hills and craters of his skin, there were many things she wanted to do to him while she finally had him in her power. She reached out and curled her fingers through his hair, reveling in the way his dark eyes followed her every move and leaned in for a deep kiss, coloured with passion. He moaned into her mouth, when she graced a nipple with her fingernails, arching his back and a red hot heat spread through Phryne that would have made it completely impossible for her to do anything but ravish him right here and then, even if she hadn't already resolved to do so. But she held on a bit longer to prolong their torturous little game, nipping and tasting away at him, while he squirmed under her experienced hands and mouth, as she hit every spot she had discovered in the last months to draw a different shade of sound from his lips. Only when a desperately whispered “Phryne” begged her for release, making her believe she'd reach climax right then just from the motion of hearing it, she took pity on both of them.

 

It was not a moment to soon. While Jack was still rubbing his aching arms after having been released from the grasp of her silk belt, there was a knock at the door. Miss Fisher called out for her maid to enter, barely giving the Inspector time to cover up, leave alone blush about the absurdness of the situation. No matter how long DI Jack Robinson lived in this house, he would never get used to having servants intrude into his bedroom in the morning.

If Dorothy Williams noticed what had happened only minutes ago, she didn't show it. She greeted the two naked and rather sweaty people lying upon the bed with the same routine as she sat down a tray of tea and slipped the curtains open, releasing a flood of sunlight into the room. While she handed her Mistress a cup with hot steamy liquid, Miss Fisher locked eyes with her loyal companion.

“You seem quite happy this morning, Dot.”

The maid seemed to fight with herself if her thorough catholic breeding allowed her such an outburst, but chose to have it anyway.

“The dress – it's ready!” She exclaimed, excitement displayed in every muscle of her body. The Inspector watched on, as the very same euphoria swept over to Phryne and the ladies started to discuss in detail every piece of lace and every drape of silken fabric. It seemed rather alien to him. Nevertheless, he had to admit that the animation this piece of clothing seemed to cause was touching.

“We better go to the salon, you need to try it today. Actually, let's do it right after breakfast.” Phryne Fisher finally resolved, slipping out of bed. Jack couldn't help but watch her, feeling guilty all the same for staring at her naked curves right in front of Miss Williams very eyes. Then again, she would get to intimately know a man's desire first-hand soon enough. If she hadn't yet. Inspector Robinson was never quite sure how to interpret the relationship between his Constable and Miss Fisher's maid. While they both seemed rather innocent, even naive at times, there was depth to it that he couldn't grasp. Not that he'd really wanted to. Miss Williams was sent away for readying a bath in Phryne's own bedroom, while her Mistress slipped into her gown, tying it was a black belt which would make him blush from now on.

„You do not mind me going out on your day off, do you, Jack?“

He sat up in bed and shook his head, finding to his surprise that he didn't.

“Miss William's exhilaration is to be cherished. She will only get married this once in her life. Don't worry about me, I have plenty to fill my day with.”

Miss Fisher ran her fingers through his sleep disheveled hair and pressed a kiss to his lips before leaving. Jack Robinson _did_ have plenty to do. There was paperwork lying on the table that needed to be done, case files to read over again, a call to the station to be made for some confirmation. But mostly there was a book on the shelf in the parlour that he really longed to read. Whistling under his breath, he got ready for the day and slipped downstairs. The comfortable silence of a now empty house settled around his armchair, as he flicked the novel open. He got to page seven, before the call came.

 


	2. White Marble

Phryne loved the buzz of Madame Fleuri's Salon. It never lost it's effect on her, even if, like today, she did not get anything out of it for herself. Her own dress for Dot's wedding had been hanging in her wardrobe for two weeks now and she had resolved to stop running her hands over it whenever she pulled the door open. So far with rather limited effect. Today however, it was Dorothy's turn to be the centre of attention. A gasp from her companion made her look around and the breath caught in her own throat momentarily. Phryne Fisher took a step closer before Miss Williams had time to unfreeze, walking around the white piece of art in awe. 

“It's beautiful, absolutely stunning. What do you think, Dot?”

Her companion closed her mouth just in time, before the question was turned to her.

“It's quite nice, Miss.”

Phryne looked up in shock.

“Quite nice? Is that really all you make of it?”

The glimmer in Dorothy William's eyes called her a liar.

“Actually Miss, I believe I haven't seen a dress this beautiful before in my life.”

Enthralled, she stretched out her fingers to run it over the soft fabric of her dream wedding gown. The Honourable Miss Fisher took the opportunity to smirk with some satisfaction to herself. Even someone as sensible as Dot could lose their head over a piece this stunning. 

“It turned out rather nicely didn't it?” Whispered a familiar voice nearby. Renée Fleuri stepped beside her client. “I'm afraid, Simone is still in Paris, so I had to supervise the finishing of this dress myself. But I am rather proud of it.” 

“And so you should be. It's magnificent.” Miss Fisher smiled, watching one of the seamstresses helping Dot into the layers for a last fitting. She had almost missed the turmoil outside the door. However the very male voice raising over the angry chatter of the house model, she recognised without trouble. 

“I do not care about any of this, Ma'am. I do need to speak with Miss Fisher and right this instant.”

“That can be accomplished.”

The Inspector turned around to find said lady grinning at him with mischief in her eyes.

Before he had closed his mouth, she pulled him out of hearing distance from the blonde behind the desk.

“You are causing quite a stir, Jack. She is not used to be spoken to in sentences constructed of more than three words, I'm afraid. After their last model turned out to be a criminal mastermind, Madame Fleuri has lowered the intellect in her staff somewhat under room temperature.” 

She rolled her eyes in a fashion that almost tore a grin from him, but he remembered the seriousness of his quest just in time.

“I just had a call from the Station. A body was found in the church of St. Ignatius.”

Phryne just drew a breath to make a snide remark about the strange interpretation of faith in some people, when the coin dropped. Excited giggling was to be heard from the dressing room where Dot was currently trying her wedding gown, without a worry in the world.

“That's Dot's church, isn't it? The one where her and Hugh intend to tie the knot next week.”

The Inspector's eyes flickered to the half open door, before he answered. 

“The very same.”

 

X

 

St. Ignatius was, as even Phryne Fisher had to admit, who was not as it was, a faithful woman, a rather impressive church. Even from the outside it showed a certain playfulness in the shapes it's architect had chosen to assemble the bluestone in. But once inside, the contrast of light stone pillars, glimmering in the morning light that fell through numerous windows with a dark wooden roof structure, was blinding. While Phryne was not overly fond of places of worship herself, she did have a soft spot for beauty and this was definitely a place where she could imagine one to be drawn to on a quiet Sunday morning. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the corpse of a young woman draped down the white marble steps of the altar. Policemen were still trying to usher out the most resilient of Sunday mass visitors and increased their efforts on the dark look Detective-Inspector Robinson threw them. A Constable, who was very much not Hugh Collins, was currently roping off the sanctuary, locking out a small group of people that sat silently in the first row, looking rather pale and shaken. It included two altar servers, both around the tender age of 16, Phryne decided, an elderly woman in simple dark blue wool dress, likely part of the staff and a priest in full Sunday mass vestment.

The Inspector paid them no mind, he seemed in his own little world at the moment and Miss Fisher had to resist grabbing his hand.

“I'm having a slight déjà vu right now.” He whispered quietly enough for only her to hear. “To countless Christmas and Easter masses I was dragged to, going on for hours.“

“I had no idea you were Catholic.“ She stated. 

“I am not.“ He whispered back, but quit his musing about religious memories on this unsatisfactory note, as they arrived at the body. The woman's silky black hair had spread out like a fan over the white stone and even the greyish dress she wore was not quite able to conceal a nicely shaped figure. Her eyes were closed in death but if she died in pain it had disappeared upon finding eternal peace; there was a rather self-satisfied look edged onto her coloured skin. She would have been quite beautiful if not for the knife stuck in her chest and the puddle of ruby red liquid drying onto the white marble. 

“Well at least the cause of death seems quite obvious.“ The Inspector stated dryly, crouching down.

Miss Fisher nodded grimly.

“Who was the girl?“ She asked no one in particular.

“Her name was Thana.“ The elderly woman explained eagerly. „She joined our household about two months ago to help me with the cleaning. I am having some troubles with arthritis lately and she...“ She trailed off. The Inspector looked up from the corpse and saw the Priest waving off the woman who he suspected quite rightfully now, was his housekeeper. 

“Miss Wentworth, I believe you are rather in shock. Maybe it is a good idea, if you go make yourself a cup of tea and rest for a while. Of course we are all ready to answer whatever questions you have, _Inspector_.“ 

As he emphasized this word, he threw Phryne Fisher a cold look that prompted her to get up and approach him.

“Father Grogan I believe? Phryne Fisher. How nice to _finally_ meet you.“

The priest obviously battled himself if it was beneath him to shake the extended hand, but found it would have been too rude to refuse. His fingers wrapped around hers for a split second with the iron grip of a vice, while he searched out her eyes. Whatever Father Grogan was, he definitely was not a man of weak spirit.

“As much as it pains me, Miss Fisher, I cannot say the same.” He stated, abandoning all politeness. “Young Dorothy has told me horrible stories about your 'investigations'. The last word was said with so much distaste, that Miss Wentworth looked like she wanted to cross herself to fend off the evil spirits lingering in it. Jack tore his attention from Thana's dead body to watch Phryne switch on her most pleasant smile. “My 'investigations', Father Grogan, have indeed brought justice to some horrible murderers in this city. Just as it will bring justice to Thana's killer. I am sure that is in your most sincere interest as well, isn't it?”

Without waiting for an answer she turned on her heel and returned to Jack's side, who slipped his eyes back to the job at hand, barely suppressing a proud smile.

 

 


	3. Granite

After the policemen had ushered out the last of the spectators and Father Grogan had taken his staff over to the presbytery for some tea and biscuits in the futile hope it would wipe the dreadful sight of a dead woman from their minds, silence settled over the sanctuary. It was only disrupted by the occasional quiet clatter of policemen's boots on the floor.

“Looks like a simple kitchen knife to me.“ The Inspector concluded under his breath. „Maybe not something quite common in a church, but not a carefully planned murder either.“ 

“It must have been a fit of rage. What sort of man kills anyone right in front of an altar?” Asked Miss Fisher into the silence, letting her eyes sweep over the marble and golden candle holders, brush over the red granite of the pillars, up to the coloured windows settled high in the wall. 

“A rather non-religious and very angry one.” The Inspector sighed, pulling himself upright.

“I am not a religious woman, Jack. But there is a certain respect attached to any house of worship that is not easily breached. I do not put my trust in the hands of a higher power but nevertheless I would murder someone as little in a Catholic church as I would in a Buddhist temple.”

“Then again, you do not seem to be too fond of killing people as a rule.” Jack smiled and slipped off his gloves. Their eyes locked for the split of a second.

“And yet, Inspector, we both spend our lives with murder.”

That was true and therefore nothing more was to be said, Inspector Robinson concluded, leaving the two women behind to turn his attention to the rest of the church.

“I wonder which way our killer has gotten in here.” He stated, sweeping his eyes over the wooden rows.

“I would probably avoid the main door, if I was him. But there must be several side doors.” Sure enough, Phryne had followed him.

“Isn't this church locked over night? She must have been dead for some hours.”

“Shouldn't you know? After all you are the Closet-Catholic here?”

Jack turned and found that she was standing much closer than he had apprehended, wearing a cheeky smile. Their bodies were almost touching and a vivid picture of the same morning flashed in front of his eyes, letting heat wash over him. Flushing, he stepped away. This was not a place and time to get aroused by her proximity. There was a dead woman lying over there on the floor, whose killer he had to find and fast, if the tragedy was not to interfere with the wedding he would make damned sure would happen in this very church the coming week. And also, she was right in pointing out that there was a certain respect to be paid to this place. Luckily Phryne seemed to have gotten the hint and swept away, her fur adorned blue coat swaying behind her like the cloak of a very determined heroine, to find all hidden entrances to the sanctuary, leaving Jack Robinson to stand alone in the middle aisle. He turned, finding himself confronted with an almost life-sized crucifix, mounted to a pillar.

“So, what do you think then, Mylord?” He asked the silently suffering figure on the cross quietly. “What a bastard would kill a young girl right in front of your very eyes?”

There was no immediate answer, another occurrence Jack remembered vividly from his former visits to this church. An excited yell sounding from the direction of the sacristy tore him from his rather one-sided conversation with the son of god and let him hurry towards it.

“Look at this, Jack.”

Obediently Inspector Robinson crouched down to inspect the old, iron lock in the oak door leading into the sacristy. Several scratched had buried themselves into the hard metal and bits of hard, dusty wood had splintered where a tool had slipped off its cause.

“Somebody has tempered with this.” He stated. “Someone with a lot less talent at it, than you possess, I might add.” His boyish smirk drew a cock of her head from Phryne, before she slipped out the open door, followed by the policeman. They found themselves in a courtyard, right the red brick of the attached school, left the bluestone of the presbytery.

“I believe, Miss Fisher, it is time we ask some questions.” The Detective-Inspector decided, offering her his arm.

 

Daniel  MacAllister couldn't help but glance up. He half expected the big crucifix hanging right over his head to be dripping blood down on his hair . Of course, it was only paint, long since dry.  W ood and paint, as his grandfather had always said  proudly , who had carved crucifixes for a living. When Daniel thought back to his childhood, there always seemed to be an abundance of suffering, bleeding Jesuses all over his home. He remembered sleeping with his knees pulled to his chest most nights, trying to wrap himself up from the glaring cross hanging over the door of the room he had shared with his big brother Thomas. The logic behind his  parent's belief, that the figure of a dying man,  divine as he might be, would give their boys sweet dreams, he had never quite grasped. But of course it was just wood and paint.  The ruby puddle on the marble over in the church however, wasn 't. Thana's blood was real. He had rather liked the young woman with the strange accent and the almond eyes. She sometimes had given him and the other altar servers biscuits with their tea, tasting of strange spices, that Father Grogan most likely wouldn't have approved of. He generally didn't seem to approve of much. The boy threw the priest a look. He had changed out of his golden mass vestment, back into his usual black soutane and looked all as grim and joyless as he was. Daniel wondered briefly, who the lady in the church had been that had arrived with the policeman. She most definitely was a lady and she had talked about investigating, finding murderers. It sounded exciting from her lips, adventurous and the adolescent couldn't help but fantasize about it. He was torn from his thoughts by Miss Wentworth's try to feed him another cup of her watery tea. Daniel shook his head with a forced smile and watched his friend, who let his cup be filled without resistance. Patrick was still as  white  as the marble steps, Thana was lying on and almost as stoic.  Even his usually prominent Freckles seemed to have paled somewhat in the stress of finding a body rather than divine guidance this Sunday morning. He seemed to be whispering something quietly under his breath, possibly prayer and Daniel resolved to not disturb him. 

There was no time for it as it turned out, because just that moment a knock to the door brought in the policeman and the dark haired lady,  who he only vaguely remembered to be the bearer of a rather strange name. 

“I don't believe I introduced myself earlier. Detective-Inspector Jack Robinson, City South Police” The policeman fished for his notebook. “I do have some questions, maybe I could speak to each of you in private?”

Serious dark eyes searched out Father Grogan's, who had risen to greet the Inspector stiffly. Now his look swept over the woman, who was standing, half hidden behind the man in the door frame and watched him with a lively blue-eyed gaze. A hint of a snarl appeared around the priests lips, that he didn't bother to disguise when he spoke.

“Of course, Inspector. However, I would prefer if Miss Fisher would not be present for this. I do not wish a private person to be witness to my conversation with you. And surely the police can solve crime without her?”

Daniel found himself to be holding his breath. While he hadn't heard of Miss Fisher before and certainly never had anything to do with the police, this was an insult, a challenge, if ever he witnessed one and for a moment it seemed to him like Detective-Inspector Robinson was going to lose his temper. But the shadow passed his face barely noticeable and with his tone of voice dripping politeness, the policeman agreed.

“But I am sure, your privacy is not endangered if Miss Fisher meanwhile has a look around the deceased’s sleeping quarters.” He added, like an afterthought, making the altar server silently giggle at the stony mimic this prompted underneath the priests white eyebrows. “Miss Wentworth can keep her company to make sure Miss Fisher doesn't touch anything inappropriate.”

There was obviously no agreement expected from Father Grogan and he shut his mouth without uttering a word, showing the Inspector into the sitting room.

After a moments thought, the housekeeper decided that this was all the instruction she was going to get and showed the well dressed lady up the creaking wooden stairs.

“Miss Wentworth isn't it?” The woman asked, gently stepping up in front of her in heels that the elderly woman would have been scared of wearing even when she was 20.

“That's right, Miss...”

“...Phryne Fisher.” The detective said easily, while they arrived in the upper floor.

“Such dreadful business.” The woman muttered, “And in our beautiful church, too.”

“You said, Thana was working here for only two months?” Phryne casually asked, while Miss Wentworth pushed open a door at the far end of the gloomy hall.

“She showed up out of nowhere, begged for work. And Father Grogan has a big heart for the weak.”

Miss Fisher chose to not comment on this. It was probably not at all impossible that the man could have a heart, hidden somewhere under his granite surface. And probably, when you pulled away all the clutter of his morals and rules, there must have been, well hidden, some shreds of mercy and humanity, that made him want to put his life into the attempt of building a bridge between a divine being and the men and women frequenting his church. The lady detective realised that Miss Wentworth hadn't stopped talking and returned her attention to the older woman, while she let her eyes run over Thana's sparsely furnished bedroom. The desk under the small window was quite empty. Miss Fisher experimentally opened a drawer, there was nothing in them. She flicked open the door of the tiny wardrobe. Three dresses greeted her, not one of them in a colour that spelled anything but doom. The single bed was neatly made, it was impossible to tell if its owner had left before last night or in the morning. There was a weak reading lamp on the night stand, but no books, no pictures. It was the most impersonal bedroom, Miss Fisher had ever encountered. In a last vain attempt and under the watchful eyes of Miss Wentworth, who was still idly talking about Thana's talent in pressing linen sheets just right, Miss Fisher felt under the mattress and repressed a yell of triumph, pulling out a thin red diary. Just when she was about to flick it open, something glittering cluttered from its last page and onto the floorboards.

 


	4. Rose Quartz

“...we aren't at all sure, where she came from. Her roots seem to lie somewhere in India.” Father Grogan concluded. “I fear, I know very little of who Thana is, Inspector. Not even a surname to satisfy your curiosity. All I am aware of is, that she was quite frightened when she showed up at my doorstep and I took her in. Miss Wentworth is a wonderful housekeeper, but she is not getting any younger and some assistance, I felt, would be appreciated.”

Jack Robinson couldn't help but be impressed. Giving home and work to a woman who was by all definition not much more than a stray, was not a move he had quite expected from the man sitting opposed to him on a grey sofa, that didn't look particularly comfortable. His own armchair definitely wasn't.

“Did she never talk about where she came from? What she ran from? Did she speak English?”

The priest had to think about this, then he shook his head.

“She spoke quite well, as far as immigrants go.” He finally stated. “Knew little etiquette, but that is to be expected when one grows up in the wilderness, isn't it?”

Whatever respect he had gathered within the last minutes evaporated. Jack felt like he should be changing the subject and fast.

“So who found the body, Father Grogan?”

“Miss Wentworth and Patrick. I was in the Sacristy with Daniel to dress. They were meant to prepare the dishes for the Eucharist and the books, light the candles. The usual preparations. But of course, that never happened.”

“What _did_ happen?”

“I don't know exactly. I was just adorning my chasuble, when Miss Wentworth came storming into the Sacristy with not as much as knocking and stammered madly. It took quite some time to get some sense out of her. And when we finally arrived at the altar, there was the girl in a puddle of her own blood and Patrick kneeling beside her, praying.”

The Inspectors ears pricked.

“Had he arrived with the rest of you?”

A steely gaze fixed upon him.

“ _Of course_ , Inspector. Nobody entered before me, as I held the key. There is quite a bit of scoundrel in the area. But you do not seriously think those boys to be involved in a murder?” The priest seemed deeply offended by the pure notion. Inspector Robinson sighed under his breath. This was going to be a long day.

When the men finally returned to the kitchen, Miss Fisher was sitting in the corner under a terribly large crucifix, cradling a cup of tea and chatting animatedly with one of the altar servers. By the flush of the cheeks under his brown fringe, Jack could assume, that the kid was quite taken with her. He couldn't blame him. The other boy wasn't in the slightest bit interested in the conversation or the lady detective. Patrick Blanchfield hadn't moved much since he had sat down what must have been more than two hours ago. Meeting Phryne's eyes, who didn't interrupt her talk to Daniel for a second, the Inspector was assured that there was no need anymore to interview Miss Wentworth, who was nowhere to be seen or look through Thana's belongings. Miss Fisher had found what was there to be found and asked what was there to ask. And by the rate she was chatting at, she would tear more secrets from Daniel MacAllister than he even knew he possessed. Smiling quietly to himself, the Inspector ushered Patrick into the other room. The smile faded quickly.

 

X

 

Half an hour later, the couple of detectives finally emerged from the stuffy rooms, smelling faintly of incense, into the fresh afternoon air. Blinking into the bright sun, Phryne tried to orientate herself, before following the cobbles around the church towards the little side street, the Inspector had parked the car in. Jack fell in an easy step beside her, brushing the back of her hand in the slightest of ways with his knuckles. Somehow this tiny gesture was more intimate and comforting than any hug could have been. Neither of them spoke till the black police vehicle had left the bustling streets of Richmond behind.

“What are we going to do?” Phryne asked finally into the silence.

“Tell them, I guess.”

“Can you see Dot wanting to get married in a church with blood drying to the altar steps?”

Jack took a sharp corner, before answering.

“I'm quite sure, Miss Wentworth will have the mess mopped up by Saturday.”

“You aren't taking this seriously, Jack.”

“I haven't taken anything seriously since 1918.” He parroted her words from a long time ago. Miss Fisher obviously remembered them, as she stayed quiet and glanced at his concentrated face. The Inspector decided then and there that he was never going to tell her, how often this sentence had echoed off the inside of his skull, whenever he had threatened to suffocate in bureaucracy. Neither would he let her know, that his conscience spoke with her voice nowadays and that he quite often asked himself, how she would look at something if it seemed too complicated to decipher for a tired, old policeman. Something in the absolute silence he could hear from the passenger seat told him, that she knew anyway.

“Liar.” She finally threw in, for good measure. He did not protest. Houses and trees flew past.

“You aren't headed for the station.”

“No.”

“Shouldn't you be making up reports and file evidence and some such, like a good policeman?”

“It's Sunday. I have no intention to spend the rest of my day behind a desk, pretending to work, if there's nothing to be done. Whatever you found upstairs is not going to set us on hot pursuit of the killer and can wait till tomorrow morning, or you would have already stirred me in the right direction.”

Her attempt to pout at this, was completely derailed by the boyish grin he threw her, before turning into her street. Whenever had she gotten so predictable, Phryne still wondered, after they had entered the house and disposed of their coats. It was an awkward sensation, having a man tiptoe around under her skin, looking curiously at her soul, twisting her dreams into rainbows. It tingled. The Honourable Miss Fisher might have shared her bed with many men, but she never had actually been intimate with anyone. It was still quite frightening from a sober point of view. Luckily she felt drunk with the emotion most of the time. Like right now, when she took some tea cups out of the kitchen cabinet, just to realise that Jack was already holding a bottle of milk. Was it their working routine, that perfect little dance around criminals and murder scenes they had developed, that had swept over into their private lives? Or was it the other way round?

“So, what is it you found?” The Inspector asked, when they sat down on the kitchen table. Wordlessly but smiling, Phryne slipped the book over the wooden surface. The Inspector riffled through the leaves that were filled with tiny writing that was very much not English.

“Some form of Indian?” He asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine. I don't think it is Hindi, but there are dozens to chose from.” Phryne sighed. “But look in the back, Jack.”

A crisp, white envelope greeted him. He unfolded the single page it contained and swept his eyes over it.

“A poem. Rather on the... florid side. No signature.”

“And this.” Phryne placed a small round stone between them on the polished table. “A rose quartz. Meant to bring love and health to people who believe in magic rocks.”

Gently Jack picked up the stone, not much more than a pebble really and held it against the afternoon sun. The milky interior glimmered softly in the light.

“Considering that the owner of this is currently lying on a slate in my morgue, it has utterly failed on the health part.” He concluded.

“I believe the sender of this present was more hopeful on its rumoured ability to produce romantic feelings.”

“A secret admirer then?” Jack hummed in a voice that Phrynes toes tingle, without taking his eyes from the lightly pink pebble. “Someone does come to mind there.”

“Someone very shaken by Thana's death.”

“Who would hardly speak to me.” The Inspector finished, their eyes locking over the table. They were interrupted by an all but bouncing Dot sweeping through the floor. Both faces flew up to her in an expression of guilt. They had almost forgotten about the wedding.

“Oh, you are home. I forgot it was Mr. Butlers afternoon off and had to let myself in. Such a shame you had to leave early, Miss. Madame Simone had a fantastic idea for the headpiece...” The excited waterfall of words trailed off, mid-sentence.

“What's wrong?” Dorothy Williams sank onto a chair, preparing for the worst. The Inspector rose, not waiting for Phryne's approval. This was best handled by her, he felt. And besides that, he had a book to get back to. He slipped out the kitchen door in silence, just as Miss Fisher grabbed her maids hand and explained: “I need to tell you something, Dot. It's not pleasant.”

 


	5. Amber

“Thana? No, that poor girl!”

The last minutes Miss Fisher had watched Dorothy's eyes widen in shock and her mouth, the shape and colour of two rose petals, part in sympathy. Of course Dot wouldn't think about the wedding. That would come later, in the darkness of the night. Dorothy Williams never thought of selfish things first, she had long been trained not to. And likely she would never admit to it either way.

“You knew her then?” Phryne Fisher asked quietly, tightening her gentle grasp on her companion's hand.

“Not very well, but she was a nice girl. I did ask her once for a recipe, since she baked the most wonderful biscuits. And we got talking about the markets with all the different spices in her country.”

“Did she tell you were exactly she came from?”

The lady detective watched on, as Dot bit her lip in thought, but to her utter disappointment shook her head.

“No, I never gotten round to asking. Father Grogan interrupted us, I don't believe her chattiness was a virtue of her, he was particularly fond of.”

Of course, Phryne thought darkly. Women were to cook and clean and keep their mouths shut. But something else knocked quietly onto the door of her attention. This was not the picture the morning had drawn of the little Indian girl lying silently on the steps of St. Ignatius. After seeing her room and hearing the mysterious stories about her appearance out of nowhere she had somehow imagined her a lot more secluded. She looked up to find that some form of realisation was dawning on Dot's face like sunrise.

“There was something Miss, a strangeness in one of our sparse meetings. She was just as usual, nice and chatty and then suddenly, something happened. She went all pale and quiet, like she had seen a ghost. A dark shadow. There is also this rumour. I don't intend to gossip...”

“But you will, if it helps with the investigation?” Phryne smiled, sipping her by now cold tea.

Dot drew a breath of braveness and went on.

“Someone whose face I have quite forgotten, whispered to me once that she was running from a bad husband. Came up from Adelaide or so they say. But nobody knows anything about him or if it even true. But it would explain her fear of lurking shadows.”

Now it was Miss Fisher's turn to chew on her lip.

“Thank you, Dot.” She kissed her on the forehead in getting up. “That was very helpful.”

While it was unlikely that the search through a whole city by means of a first name would bring any success, it was worth a try. She had to talk to Jack. Phryne found the Inspector in the Parlour, looking quite enthralled in his reading material. She slipped into the arm chair beside his, watching him till he grew sufficiently unsettled under her stare to let the novel sink into his lap.

“How did she take it?” He asked, quietly enough for his voice to not be heard further than this room. Phryne shrugged.

“Dot is not worried as of yet. She will be in time.”

Quickly she shared the new information on their victims background and Jack promised to thoroughly look into them, as soon as the morning arrived.

“Maybe you could try to find someone to translate the diary in the morrow? It might help us a lot further to read the girls thoughts, than to go on a wild goose chase following rumours.” He requested of her in return. “And I know you to have your sources, even if I personally would start at the library.”

Miss Fishers's lips parted in a smile. “Actually, I know a lady who is just right for the job.”

“As you would.”

She got up to pour herself a drink, when her eye got caught by the title of the novel that was still resting on his lap, a finger marking the page he had to put down for their conversation.

“I see you have found the immoral part of my book collection.”

With two glasses she returned, extending one to the Inspector in their known routine.

“Immoral? So far a morning with you seems a lot more scandalous than Mr. Dorian.” Jack fired back.

“I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit.” Phryne quoted, slipping onto her lovers lap, who barely prevented the tumbler from spilling Whisky onto the both of them.

“I haven't gotten to the sinful part just yet then, it seems.” Jack murmured, wrapping his arms around her.

“Oh you will.” She promised, and something in the way she nibbled his earlobe told him, that she had changed the subject altogether.

 

X

 

Darkness had fallen by the time Miss Fisher awoke. A heavy round of amber was hanging from the night sky, looking through the opened curtains of Jack's bedroom. They had never gotten around to drawing them. Strangely awake, even though judging by the position of the moon, midnight must have been long since gone but there was no sign of the morning yet, she pulled herself upright, resting her head against the cool of the metal bed head. While the curls of Iron were definitely useful - their last use brought a wicked smile to her face - they weren't overly comfortable to sit against. A pillow, carefully stuffed between her naked back and the bed frame made it a lot more bearable. Jack sighed in his sleep. With fondness Miss Fisher watched him. He was lying on his stomach, facing her, his back exposed from the tangled sheets. She resisted the urge to run her fingers through his hair, that looked dark and soft in the moonlight. The Inspector was a light sleeper, and if she touched him, he most likely would stir. She didn't want that, just wanted to sit, with her knees pulled to her chest and watch the breath go in and out of his lungs, his lashes flutter in a vivid dream. He was beautiful and fragile in this state and she would be his guardian through the night. Tomorrow he was allowed to be strong and clever again.

Phryne let her head loll back and her thoughts drift, the day pass by again. At some point she must have slipped into a doze, as she suddenly found herself hot and Jack having moved. Her scratchy throat reminded her that they had been too busy to pay attention to Mr. Butlers last enquiry before turning in and that there was no water on the night stand. Sighing, Miss Fisher stole out of bed and fished the discarded black morning gown from the floor. The stairs creaked under her steps, as she snuck downstairs. The jug was sitting its usual nightly position on the counter and Miss Fisher poured herself a glass without bothering to switch the lamp on. Soft moonlight dipped the familiar kitchen into unfamiliar shadows. Thana's diary was still lying on the table, next to the opened envelope. It probably had not been particularly careful of them to leave pieces of evidence scattered around the kitchen. Phryne drained her glass with the resolve to lock both, letter and book, away on returning upstairs, when she heard the screech of the door. In surprise she turned, but didn't manage a reaction, before something heavy and incredibly hard shattered on her skull.


	6. Onyx

It might have been the time he had spent in a hell called Flanders. Living for years in constant fear for one's life probably did things to a man that went beyond his brain. But when the last piece of glass had fallen to the kitchen floor, Inspector Jack Robinson was already halfway down the stairs, in a pair of pyjama pants that he could not remember pulling on, yelling her name into the night. He ripped the kitchen door open to find Phryne lying on the floor in a circle of glass and liquid, clutching onto her head and moaning. His heart forgot to beat. But the part of Jack that currently didn't bother thinking, also saw the black hooded figure that was trying to reach the back door, Thana's possessions clutched in gloved fingers. Running over shards of glass whose pricks he could not feel, the Inspector grabbed the dark man by his collar and ripped him around, shoving him backwards.

“What the hell are you doing here?” A voice that didn't seem to belong to him screamed while the diary cluttered to the floor. The intruder struggled, but Jack was stronger, fueled by sheer panic and rage. Shaking the man, he slammed him against the door, yelling indistinguishable words that must have made as little sense to him as they did to anyone else. Here in the darkness, with Phryne's pained groans in his ears, Jack Robinson lost his mind. For this moment, he was 25 years of age again, lying with his face in the mud, every breath he drew the last one. Light flared up.

“Inspector! Stop!”

A pair of strong hands loosened his grip on the intruder who had gone limp between his hands. Jack blinked. He could not grasp... The last minute was a blur. Mr. Butler pulled him off the man who sank lifelessly to the floor.

“Phryne?” Jack heard himself whisper, crawling beside his lover who was still lying in a foetal position on the ground. The answer was a whimpered “I'm alright.” His hands gently stroked her head, pulled back with blood sticking to them, that made his stomach turn. Gently he uncurled her, helped her to her feet, still whispering her name like a mantra and realised that Mr. Butler was yet kneeling beside the unconscious intruder. The servant looked up with worry written deeply in his face.

“We better call an ambulance.” He said gravely. Only now the detective noticed the removed disguise. A trickle of blood dripped lazily from the nose of the young man. It was Patrick Blanchfield.

 

X

 

 

“This is going to be one hell of a headache.” Dr. MacMillan stated, finishing the dressing on her friends head. “But otherwise you should be fine. Luckily, your skull is as hard as a brick. And I would order you to stay in bed for a day or two, if I wouldn't know that you'd just ignore me.”

Phryne Fisher rolled her eyes before reaching out for Elisabeth's hand. The women shared a quiet smile of deep fondness. The detective silently thanked her friend for coming round in the middle of the night, while the redhead equally without words grumbled that that was the obvious thing to do and that she was just glad Phryne had survived the adventure with only a small cut and some bruised ribs to go with her concussion. Jack, who sat in a chair opposite of them, holding on to a cup of tea as if his life depended on it, watched the wordless exchange with dull eyes.

Outside dawn was crawling over the horizon. Soon the birds would start to sing and tell him that it was time to get up and return to his office at the station. Find Thana's killer. Life went on, even after a night like this one. Jack wasn't sure if he was actually shaking or if it was just the nerves inside his body that were so highly strung that they seemed to vibrate. Patrick had been taken away to hospital an hour and a half ago, still unconscious. If he died... Jack tried to relax his clutched fingers, leaning back in his chair. To anyone who didn't know him, he might have looked a little disheveled, while otherwise completely normal. But Miss Fisher _did_ know him. There was a shadow clouding his eyes, a stiffness to his back that spelled trouble. He hadn't taken this night's events terribly well, but right now she was too tired and sore to attempt any comfort. Dot, who had been dragged into the kitchen by Mr. Butler for some cacao to calm her fluttering nerves, poked her head into the parlour to announce her turning in again. Mac left little later, with wise and completely unheard words on her lips and finally Phryne pulled herself upright, determined to also return to bed. A pair of grey eyes looked up as if waking from a dream when she extended her hand to Jack. He took it after only a moments hesitation and let himself be pulled upstairs. Miss Fisher slipped into bed beside him, dragging the covers over the both of them. Wordlessly he snuggled closer, wrapping himself around her with the silent desperation of a lover who was aware what he had been in danger of losing tonight. Lying pressed against his hot body, with the sound of his heartbeat in her ears, Phryne almost convinced herself that she was imagining the tension in his muscles which she couldn't soothe away. When she awoke late in the morning with a throbbing head, realising that he had snuck out without so much as a goodbye kiss, the lady detective remembered that imagining things really wasn't her style.

 

X

 

Detective-Inspector Robinson's morning had, besides a splitting headache that he seemed to have developed in sympathy with Miss Fisher, been rather uneventful. That changed at exactly two minutes past eleven, when a very angry Hugh Collins stormed his office, rage radiating from his usually good-natured face.

„Why haven't you called me in?”

“Turn around, Constable. There is a door, it's there to knock.” The Inspector answered, without looking up from studying the report on Thana's demise. It didn't have the desired effect. When he finally raised his eyes, Hugh was still standing in front of his desk, staring at him in self-righteous anger.

“I am a Constable of this Station, Sir, I have a right to be called -”

“And as such you have a right to not be called in for a murder on a Sunday morning, if there is enough staff rostered on.” Jack brushed over his words. “Jones and Dunhill were both on their shift when the girl was found. You were not required.”

“But, sir -”

Jack rose from his chair, pulling himself into his policeman's stance, which he knew called for respect.

“I am aware, Collins, that the murder scene is your intended wedding venue and that was the very reason I did _not_ call you in. It was not a pretty sight and I do not wish for you to think of young girls with knives in their chests when you exchange your vows with Miss Williams. Are we clear?”

The young man nodded slowly, his anger escaping like steam from a teapot.

“However, I will get you to call the hospital, because the intruder that broke into Miss Fisher's house last night, trying to steal evidence, was still unconscious when I rang this morning and I would like to know if there are any developments.” He watched Hugh open his mouth, then chose to talk right over him.

“And before you even ask, Miss Williams is fine. Miss Fisher got a bit of a scratch, but she is also going to be alright. Thank you Collins, that will be all.”

The Constable stood for a moment longer, watching his superior settling back behind his desk with a pained grimace to his face and then turned and closed the door behind himself, still wondering what had just happened to the plan of confronting the Inspector.

 

Jack waited until he was alone before he rubbed his throbbing temples, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration. His call to the South Australian police had not been a very successful one. While his colleague had been quite polite, he had no high hopes that a face and a first name would rise anything. But he had promised to keep his eyes open all the same. More was not be expected. The only other leads at the moment were lying in hospital and on Miss Fisher's kitchen table respectively. Jack Robinson regret by now to have handed over the chase for a translator to Phryne. Not because he didn't trust her to find one, not even because of the unreasonable, lurking worry for her in his stomach, but for the simple reason that it condemned him to complete inaction. After sighting all paperwork for what must have been the third time, he looked at his watch. His witness wouldn't arrive for another half hour, maybe he should get some lunch, even though he didn't feel particularly hungry. Shrugging on his overcoat he headed for the door, only to be almost hit squarely in the face when it flew open. Miss Fisher swept past him, obviously not half as stunned as he was was. Jack let the door fall shut behind her. Something in the aura surrounding her indicated strongly that this was not going to be a conversation he wanted the lads to eavesdrop on. So much for his lunch plans. Phryne waited patiently until he had hung up his coat and painted on his most polite smile.

“What can I do for you, Miss Fisher?”

She reflected his mimic of guarded friendliness and said with a voice dripping sugary syrup: “You can tell me, what the hell happened last night.”

It took some effort to keep his smile in place, but he managed it.

“Your head injury seems to have damaged your memory, Miss Fisher. I believe, you stumbled over an intruder on your search for a glass of water and had quite a nasty struggle with him.”

“Jack!” She said. Nothing more. The Inspector held her gaze, hiding his trembling hands under the desk and wished for it to pass. But when Miss Fisher finally did get up, an unspoken fear gripped his heart. Instead of leaving, however, she sat down on the edge of his desk, fixing him with intense blue eyes.

“Considering your unwillingness to share, let me say this: I will not let you get away with it this time. On the last two occasions you behaved in a similar manner, you made respectable attempts to destruct our partnership and therefore you will understand that I have no intention to wait until you try a third time to run for the hills.”

He swallowed at this, dropping his eyes into his lap. Five warm, gentle fingers wrapped around his own and even though he did not know how to react, his hand did. It held on tightly.

“Talk to me.” She whispered. Jack nodded slowly. He was well aware what was to be done. She was his partner in, oh, so many ways and to deserve that, he needed to let her in. But how could he ever explain? Since last night he felt like he was free-falling into a gaping black hole inside of himself. One he had buried under so much rubble, that he had nearly forgotten its very existence.

“I almost killed that kid.” He finally muttered, close to inaudible. “If Mr. Butler hadn't come...” He trailed off. His eyes searched out hers, trying to find if she was shocked, scared. But there was just warmth and understanding.

“He broke into our home, Jack. Woke you from your sleep, attacked me... How could you expect yourself to react any other way than irrational?”

“It's not just that, Phryne.”

Inspector Robinson drew a breath, trying to fit a gaping hole into words. Faint memories flashed in front of him, while he sorted through his thoughts. He looked at his hand, still firmly entwined with her fingers and suddenly pulled it back as if her skin had burned him. Phryne's eyes widened, but before she could ask just what had happened, a knock interrupted them.

“Daniel MacAllister is here for his interview, Sir.” Collins announced, nodding at Miss Fisher.

Jack jumped up, breathing a sigh of relief for not having to reveal the dark secret lurking just yet and completely ignored Miss Fishers searching stare when he asked the Constable to bring the boy in.


	7. Hematite

Daniel's face had grown longer and longer, the more Detective-Inspector Robinson talked.

“So the fool has actually done it!” He finally blurted out, when the policeman stopped. Phryne, who had been fiddling with her hat for the last ten minutes, perked up at this.

“He announced to you, that he was about to break into my house?”

“I'm sorry Miss, I didn't think him to be serious. Patrick was quite confused after what happened and he's sometimes a little... strange.”

There was so much earnest remorse displayed in the kid's face, that Phryne couldn't hold onto her grudge with any sincerity. Jack seemed to have no trouble of the kind, his expression being similarly stony as the wall he was leaning against.

Daniels's eyes swept from one detective to the other and obviously came to the same conclusion as he chose to address Miss Fisher for the remainder of his tale.

“We walked home together yesterday and he told me about the poem he had sent her. Said he saw it in your handbag and that he would get it back. That his feelings for Thana were private and none of your business. It really was the most awkward conversation I ever had. He seemed to have lost the plot a little, if I'm honest.”

At this his head drooped. “If I had known he would try and harm you I'd have warned you, I swear.”

Miss Fisher felt compelled to give him a reassuring smile. Her attempt was utterly spoiled by Jack slamming his hands down onto the tabletop. 

“So you didn't think it would be useful information for us, that your friend had romantic interest in someone with a knife in her chest? Maybe something you might have shared?”

“Jack!?” He heard Phryne whisper under her breath. The Inspector closed his eyes for a moment to collect his thoughts. His head was killing him. When he opened them again, Daniel had leaned back and pressed his lips together.

“Patrick and I aren't exactly close friends. He is an awkward kid. Has something to do with his parents, if you ask me. But he is always praying and carrying on. The perfect sheep for our dear Shepard Father Grogan.”

The sarcasm dripping off his words wasn't lost on the detectives.

“And you aren't?”

“Not exactly. My family consists of good Catholics troughout the lineage, I'm afraid. My Grandfather has done quite a bit of work on St. Ignatius. So there is no escape for me, good little son I am.”

The men's eyes met for a quiet duel of wills. Finally Inspector Robinson pulled himself upright, surrendering to his instincts, telling him that the kid was honest, if annoyingly so.

“If it was up to me, I would ditch the dress and get on with life.” Daniel concluded. “But, the question of my faith aside, no, Patrick did not tell me that he was in love with Thana. Mind you, I had my suspicions, he went all sheepeyed, every time she entered a room.”

“Have you heard the rumour, that Thana might have run from an abusive man, Daniel?” Phryne chimed in, before Jack could fly off the handle again.

“Yes. I also heard she was a Mongolian princess, Miss. There were many stories about her. People talk when they have nothing else to do.”

He thought for a moment.

“However, I think there might be some truth to it. I once saw a bruise on her arm, shortly after she arrived.”

“Did you ask her about it?”

“Of course not. Us Catholics don't speak about important things. We prefer to pray.” Daniel said with a sarcastic smirk many years beyond his age. Phryne decided, that she rather liked the kid. Jack thanked the witness stiffly and left the room, Miss Fisher hot on his heels. She just arrived at the door, when something occurred to her.

“I find myself wondering, Daniel: How did Patrick know where to look for me and my handbag?”

MacAllisters's answer was a cheeky grin.

“No offence, Miss. But the lady detective Phryne Fisher is certainly not that hard to find. You do advertise.”

Miss Fisher nodded. She actually _did_ like him.

 

X

 

Hysterical knocking called Mr. Butler to the door. He was not overly surprised to find a sweaty, red-faced Constable Collins standing in front of the same. In fact he had been waiting for his appearance since yesterday, but certainly since the early hours of this morning. The butler thought it rather cruel of his employer and the Inspector to leave Hugh Collins in the dark about the events, but then again, it wasn't his place to intervene. Nor was it part of his job description to worry himself about Inspector Robinson looking pale and tired and leaving the house with no more than a cup of black coffee in his stomach. Or about Miss Fisher vibrating in a mixture of anger and fear under her usual calm, smiley exterior when she had announced her trip to the Station. None of this was his business. The servant sighed silently to himself. What good was it to be able to read the people around yourself, if your discretion kept you from helping them? At least, the man standing in front of him was an open book if ever he saw one and also rather responsive to a little suggestion.

“Constable Collins. Please do come in. Dorothy is currently busying herself in the kitchen. ” He smiled, before the young police officer could utter a word.

„Doubtlessly you would have heard of last nights events.“ The servant stated quietly, while leading Hugh through the house. To his satisfaction, this was answered with unsurprised politeness, so he went on: „-Baking seems to be calming her nerves. Especially so close to the wedding.“

In fact, Dorothy Williams had taken quite a fancy to cluttering up Miss Fisher's kitchen in the past few weeks. The closer the big day drew, the more cakes, biscuits and meringues seemed to fill the pantry. Mr. Butler had quietly started to bring things down to the orphanage the other night \- of course with Miss Fishers consent and on the way home had picked up some more flour and sugar from the grocery shop. From the smell he grasped that it was the day for Gingersnap biscuits. The waft of freshly baked goods got overwhelming when he entered the kitchen. Almost as if the maid was trying to chase away the lingering smell of the sherry that still left the floor sticky, even after several cleans. In the middle of unwashed bowls and floury surfaces stood Dot, adorned in a frilly apron and covered in a dusting of white powder, working away furiously at a ball of dough. 

“Dorothy. A visitor for you.”

Mr. Butler had to say it twice, before she stopped her attack on the dough and looked up.

“Hugh?!”

“Dottie. I am so glad you're alright.”

As Dorothy Williams flung her flour covered self into the arms of her fiancé without much regard for his black uniform, Mr. Butler descreetly pulled the door shut behind himself and decided that the bedrooms upstairs really needed tidying – preferably very slowly.

 

X

 

Detective Inspector Robinson played with his pen and watched on, as the Honourable Phryne Fisher read the rather unimpressive collection of information on Thana's murder, neatly displayed in a brown paper folder.

„So our suspects as of now, are a dark shadow of a husband we are not sure even exists and a love crazed adolescent who cannot talk.” She finally stated, setting down her reading material. “That is not very satisfying.” 

“No, it is not.” The Inspector threw the pen down onto the surface of his desk and resisted the urge to scream. The seconds ticked by in silence, as they both hung after their respective thoughts.

“I will need you to make a formal statement of last nights events.” Jack finally stated to fill the silence. 

“Why? You were there.”

“Because... Just humour me, Phryne. We need to do this properly.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I drank a glass of water in my kitchen, when I was hit over the head by an intruder with a bottle, which was not only rude but also waste of a perfectly good Sherry.”

She smirked at him, trying to draw a reaction but found empty eyes staring through her. Disgruntled she went on.

“I then missed his privates with my knee, by about an inch from the feel of it, and got a punch into the chest for good measure, that knocked the wind out of me before the policeman who happens to live in my house, came charging through the door in shining armour and kept the man from making off with the evidence entrusted to me.” 

Jack Robinson raised his eyebrows at her description, but said nothing.

“Collins!” He called out, to no avail.

Phryne had the decency to look slightly flustered.

“I might have sent him on his lunch break.”

“You what?! You are still aware that you are not a policewoman, Miss Fisher, or did the hit to your head rattle something up there?”

She was not sure, if he was seriously annoyed or joking so settled for explaining herself.

“I sent him over to see after Dot. She went into a baking frenzy this morning. The girl is close to snapping I fear, with the wedding, the murder and the break-in.”

She watched his ruffled feathers settle slightly. Part of her wanted to enquire about the depth lurking behind his foul mood, but something warned her to not attempt this here and now. It was probably a matter better spoken about over a glass of whisky in private.

„While the Constable is out, I will do something about said evidence and try and figure out what our girl has written down.“ She picked up her hat and stood, wondering for a split second how to say goodbye to Jack.

Then she walked around the desk and kissed him squarely on the lips, deeply relieved to feel him respond, if somewhat surprised, by returning her gesture of affection.

She pulled back, holding his gaze from only inches away. There was a reassuring softness in the dark hematite of his irises, that she had missed during the last few hours.

„Take care of yourself, Inspector.“

„I will, Miss Fisher.“

His eyes followed her as she strode out the door.


	8. Brick

Miss Wentworth's fingers ached. Now stuck with pressing the linen on her own again, her arthritis was playing up, making her days far more painful, than they used to be. But truthfully, that was not the only thing she regretted about Thana's absence. She had adapted to the girl's company during their shared work, her chattering silliness throughout the day, her soft voice moving alongside her quick fingers at equal speed. Now the housekeeper shared her dinners with Father Grogan again. And while Miss Wentworth had a deep respect for the priest, even knew, that there, hidden behind his stony facade, was a heart as big as a continent, he was not overly entertaining company. Whereas at night, Thana had told her wild stories by the fire while her fingers had danced over embroidery, Father Grogan rustled through the leaves of his bible with the aura of quiet concentration, leaving her to herself. Miserably Miss Wentworth folded the now useless pieces of linen from Thana's bed into her cabinet. She was not sure what to do about her clothes. Maybe she could give them to the Bakers; Mildred's dress had looked awfully threadbare on her last visit to the mass. The housekeeper pulled one of the garments out, feeling tears prick at her eyes. It was a dark brown piece; probably a bit too small for Mildred but it would fit her eldest perfectly. She heard the rustling, when she lay the dress onto the bare bed to fold it. Her hands stilling, she listened, but it sounded only when she moved again. Patting the pockets, she found a small, folded piece of paper, that, upon smoothing out, revealed a familiar looking shape. In a hand that wasn't really used to writing in English, there were some notes scribbled about the crude drawing. As she read them, Miss Wentworth's blood ran cold. 

 

X

 

Miss Fisher's coat fluttered in a soft afternoon breeze as her feet climbed the stone steps, sweeping past Sir Redmond's thoughtful stare. Jack was indeed correct; starting at a library was a very good idea. Especially in this particular case. Phryne smiled at the man behind the desk and strode right past him without hesitation. She had a fair idea where she was heading. Her heels rapped out a conspicuously loud staccato on the floor of the big circular reading room. A few annoyed faces flew up from a variation of books and to complete the cliché, Phryne felt she could hear someone actually trying to faintly shush her. She chose to ignore the stir her arrival had caused and instead let her head fall back, sweeping her gaze up the balconies that stretched like layers of a wedding cake up to the dome. A smirk appeared on her lips, when she found, what she had been looking for and followed by more murmuring of disturbed readers, she clattered back out of the room, all but running up the stairs. Arriving on the 6th floor, she halted, catching her breath and found herself confronted with another thoughtful stare, maybe with a hint of cheekiness to it. It brought back fond memories.

„I think there is someone, I should bring with me next time. He would love to meet you.“ The lady detective smirked, turning on her heels before she could begin to wonder just when she had started to talk to coloured glass. William Shakespeare kept thinking about his next act, completely unfazed by the beautiful but slightly insane woman following the dome gallery to the other side. 

The woman sitting there could have also been a statue, but Phryne remembered her to be quite alive. Riya Santi must have once been a beautiful young woman, before life had come around and shaped her into something new. As though the years had taken the blurry image of her physical attraction and sharpened them into something of more spiritual appearance. She wore a long flowing dress in a shade of orange that Phryne had to admit with a hint of envy, would make herself look like an unfortunate sunflower, her dark hair spilling in soft waves down her back in free fall, completely and utterly avoiding any form of restraint. Her almond eyes were thoroughly fixed on some inner picture that she was trying to ban onto the small drawing pad resting on her lap. 

There was, however, nothing spiritual about the way she jumped up, when her attentive eyes landed on her visitor.

“Phryne Fisher!”

A drawing pad clattered onto the floor, completely forgotten, crumbling the picture of a wild rose stock that Riya had seen some years ago on a journey through Jerusalem. Before she could protest, Phryne was pulled into a hug by two tanned arms, whose strength defied their outer appearance of fragile femininity.

“You still haven't found yourself an atelier then?” She finally asked with a fond smirk, when she could breath again.

“This is my atelier!” Mrs. Santi exclaimed, opening her arms as if to show the daylight flooding the gallery. “I won't find any better place in Melbourne. And all the words floating through the air make my pictures more poetic, I tell myself.” She stopped the flow of chatter from her mouth, for the first time really focusing on her old friend. A faint wrinkle appeared on her forehead. “But how have you been, Phryne. Tell me. You look worried.”

Miss Fisher _was_ worried - mostly about the fact that she felt the sudden urge to tell Riya about Jack and the brick wall he had been busily building since the gone night. Soft fingers touching the bandage she had almost forgotten about, brought her back to the present where her friends had fixed her with a stare that lay somewhere between piercing and soothing. 

“Please don't tell me a man did this to you, or I will have to go and strangle him personally.”

Phryne bit back a sobbing laugh at this.

“That will be unnecessary, he is already lying in hospital. That is actually the reason for my intrusion on your work today.”

She produced the diary from her handbag.

“What do you make of this?”

It took some time and explaining before Riya Santi was willing to turn her attention to the book rather than to the once again throbbing cut on Phryne's forehead. After Miss Fisher had shared Thana's story, the elder woman's beautiful face showed many more wrinkles than it usually held. Careful, with the respect of someone touching a holy artifact, she reached for the red leather and opened it. Her gaze slowly ran over the first page and then she closed it, her eyes darkening. “I'm sorry Phryne. I really am.”

 

X

 

Miss Fisher sat in her parlor watching the flames throw dark shadows against the aquamarine walls, when she heard the knock. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Dot answering the door, Jack shrugging out of his coat and was just about to open her lips to share the news with him, when she looked into his face and decided that something strongly alcoholic was currently more appropriate. He sat down without a word and took the offered beverage, draining the glass in one gulp. Phryne was tempted to be offended by his lack of manners but thought better of it. After a few minutes that stretched into eternity, he was finally ready to speak. 

“I've just come from the hospital.“

Phryne's heart stopped. 

“Did he...?”

Jack shook his head, handing her his empty glass, that she obediently filled again.

“No, no changes. I did happen to run into Patrick's parents though.”

His hand rubbed absent-mindedly over his lips, trying to find some comfort. Phryne crouched down in front of him and cupped his cheek, lifting his eyes to face her.

“He broke into your home!”

She said the words slowly, like speaking to a rather thick child.

“But parents have the undeniable right to hate anyone who beats their son into a hospital.” He smiled sarcastically. The tears glittering in his eyes belied any trace of humour. Miss Fisher leaned forward to kiss them away; felt the flutter of his eyelids under the soft skin of her lips; tasted a salty drop on her tongue. When she pulled back, she could witness to the tension draining from his muscles like the ocean retreating at ebb. Slowly he opened his lashes before lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to her palm.

For a moment Jack looked like he wanted to say something, then he thought better of it. He pulled her onto his lap unceremoniously, wrapping his arms around her and resting his tired face against her chest. Phryne played with his hair, a treat she never tired of. When her fingertips tickled along the hairline of his neck, she very nearly heard him purring.

“You never told me your secret.” She said playfully, surprised, when he pulled back, looking at her with big eyes. “How did you end up in a Catholic church?”

He cleared his throat, making a show out of looking at his watch.

“I'm tired, Phryne, can it wait?”

“Of course.” She nodded, confused, but nevertheless climbed off him to follow him upstairs.

An hour went by, then two, with her lying wrapped up in her sheets, staring into the idle darkness. She was enough of a detective and also enough of an experienced woman to know that the man lying beside her, just brushing her with enough skin to remind her that she wasn't alone in her bed, was not sleeping either.

“My grandma.” She heard Jack's rough voice say into the night. She turned to face him, meeting his eyes that faintly glimmered. “My grandmother was Catholic. Until she fell head over heels in love with my grandfather and had to convert. But every Easter night and every Christmas Eve she would sneak into the Mass in St. Ignatius. We always sat in the last row, where nobody knew us and no matter how much I begged, she never let me got up to take Communion.”

Miss Fisher couldn't help but smile at the excitement in his voice.

“Living the dangerous life then?”

“It was a big adventure, Miss Fisher, for a little Protestant boy. Strange people in even stranger clothes, swinging around incense, speaking in strange tongues and...” His voice dropped to a humorous whisper “...singing. Or what Catholic priests consider singing.” 

„You weren't scared at all then?”

“No, I was always a brave little boy.” He smiled.

“And you still are.”

Running a gentle hand over his stubbly cheek, she shared his humorous smirk and when their lips met for a kiss, Phryne thought she might hear the faint sound of a brick wall crumble to dust.


	9. Silver Ore

Miss Fisher's sweet dreams were ended by the bustling about of her maid. Dot seemed insanely cheerful as she opened the curtains and served the blurry eyed couple tea in bed, along with some scones, that she must have started baking before the light of dawn. Phryne slipped on her most soothing smile and bit back her frustration about the fact that the two most stoic, supportive rocks in her life had resolved to lose their marbles at the very same time. She sipped her tea slowly, not quite sure if she was strictly comfortable with being the most sensible person in the room.

Jack had rolled over and was obviously trying to drown out the excessive chattering of the girl via an extra dose of silence. Phryne didn't blame him. She yawned into her hand and quietly wished for Dot to return to her kitchen, so she could curl up against him and drift back to sleep, when she caught a half-sentence she had not quite been listening to.

“...drop off the cakes to St. Ignatius.”

Suddenly the lady detective was wide awake.

“I wasn't aware you planned on going to church today, Dot?”

She stopped, without saying what she really had wanted to say. That she thought it better if her companion stayed as far away as possible from the church, Father Grogan and anything else that might upset her, while she was this fragile.

“Not the church, Miss. I was going to deliver some baked goods to the school. The nuns always appreciate some help and I feel we have more than we can eat.”

Dot had the decency to blush at this, a fact that amused her mistress to no end. With faux thoughtfulness she curled her lips.

“It seems indeed like a magic baking fairy has been haunting our pantry as of late. I'm sure it wouldn't do any harm to share the abundance with the children at St. Ignatius. I might actually come with you, it is great weather for a drive.”

Dorothy Williams looked a bit squeamish at the idea, but politely agreed. Truthfully, she was rather glad for her Mistress to come along. Miss Phryne always had a certain way of making her feel grounded and strong and she sensed she needed both today.

When she had finally bustled out the door busily, doubtless intending to create a gingerbread house shaped like the Taj Mahal or some similar nonsense, Miss Fisher leaned over to kiss her Inspector on his pyjama-clad shoulder, drawing a disgruntled noise from him that could have almost been a question.

“I've never gotten around to filling you in on my visit to the library.”

At this he turned, reluctantly tearing his eyes open.

“You are by far the most annoying bed partner I have ever encountered, Miss Fisher.”

The sleepy smile accompanying this sentence not only belied any sincerity, but also made her stomach flutter.

“And how long a list is this one I'm leading, Inspector?”

The words had slipped out, before she could stop them. Past lovers weren't something they discussed in general. But then again, it was too late to reconsider. Jack was thinking; pondering this an awfully long time for someone who had been married and faithfully so, for almost half of his life.

“That depends.” He finally offered, with a rise of his brows.

Not quite the answer she had been expecting. In fact, the Honourable Phryne Fisher found herself looking for words. Jack deeply revelled in having left her speechless for once.

“Should I take into consideration my Aunt Beatrice who missed her bedroom once under the influence of a rather hefty dose of brandy and snored into my ear all night?”

“I think that would completely depend on the question, if she did this.” Phryne stated smiling and brushed a kiss to his collarbone.

“I rather hope not.”

“This then?” She asked again, trailing up to his neck. He shuddered in a mixture of pleasure and disgust.

“Phryne.” He stopped her by taking her shoulders and gently pulling her backwards, giving her a firm look. Her lips curled into a pout that challenged his withstanding powers somewhat.

“The history of my bed partners aside, I believe you wanted to tell me about your investigation, Miss Fisher.”

Snapping into her detective mode, she rolled onto her stomach, dragging a pillow under her chest to face him.

“I happened to rather deliberately run into an old friend at the State Library yesterday. And she does not know the language.”

Jack felt slightly deflated.

“I am quite sure I can find many people, who will _not_ know this language, Miss Fisher.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Riya happens to speak over 30 languages, Inspector, most of them fluently. And she does recognise even more, yet this one is a mystery to her. However, she promised to find someone who will know. She is very well connected I might add.”

The Detective-Inspector stiffened at this.

“Please don't tell me you handed evidence in a murder case out to someone else, Miss Fisher.”

She grinned, rolling herself out of bed with one fluid gesture, looking over her shoulder in a way that caused rather conflicted emotions to join the anger he was nurturing.

“If you insist, Inspector, I will not tell you. I believe Dot is expecting me to have some breakfast. Afterwards, we will head to St. Ignatius, I will keep my eyes open.”

Jack groaned and fell back into bed. Why on earth was he so obsessively in love with this woman? The most worrying thing about this, however, was how little he regretted it. He closed his eyes, revelling in her smell that still lingered in the pillow she had just left behind. He was shaken out of his reverie by the realisation that he was running seriously late for his shift.

 

X

 

It was only when she stepped out the front door, that Miss Fisher became aware, that she had been lying. The weather looked rather lousy; greyish clouds hung low in the sky over Melbourne, keeping a humid, oppressive heat in place that caused sweat to trickle down her back, even though it had hardly hit ten o'clock. She could smell the threat of rain in the air. 

None of that seemed to bother the young man who was currently busy trimming her hedges back. Phryne Fisher took a minute to watch the ripple of muscles under his half opened shirt. Only when she felt her companion move nervously behind herself, clutching onto a basket that contained a range of floury goodness, did she decide she could lust over the young mans physical advantages another time. 

“Why don't you wait in the car, Dot. I will just have a quick word with Ryan.”

Dorothy obediently took the second basket from her Mistress' hands and bustled off in the direction of where the red Hispano-Suiza was parked on the street. Ryan Binley greeted his employer with a broad grin, his brown eyes sparkling. The former stable-hand and thief had gotten quite well adapted to his new life as part of the Fisher-family and Phryne gave herself a satisfied tap on the shoulder in the knowledge, that she had probably saved him from a life in prison by a gentle twist of some arms and laws. 

“Miss Fisher! May I say that this dress is of a stunning colour? It brings out your eyes.”

Phryne smiled coquettishly at that. That was the other thing about the young man. He was like an incredibly flattering mirror, always a compliment on his lips. And every woman should have one of those at home.

“That's very kind of you, Ryan. How is your mother?”

At this, his smile got even broader, if that was possible.

“Quite well, Miss. She has started work as a housekeeper with the Brandon's and is quite happy there. I personally find she looks ten years younger. There will never be a chance to show enough gratitude for your kindness, I'm afraid.”

Phryne lips curled into another contented smile. She loved when her plans worked out. But she had business to talk and got right to it.

“Actually, Ryan, there is something you could do for me.”

There conversation was short. The gardener showed only briefly surprise, when his employer handed him something small and silver. Then he nodded, enthusiasm glittering in his eyes.

“Don't worry, Miss. I will take care of this.” He promised. She turned on her heels to walk off, but threw a quick, smiling look over her shoulder. “I know you will.”

Ryan Binley watched her glide over the grass, defying the laws of physics in her high heels, then he let the key slip into his pocket before returning to his hedges, humming quietly to himself.

 


	10. Russian Jade

It wasn't as she had envisioned it. Phryne Fisher wasn't even quite sure, how that was. But she probably had expected something along the line of screaming children, playing catch in the hallways. What she had found was a red brick building filled with silence and concentration and the general aura of peace. It was disturbing.

Consciously listening to the clattering of her own heels on the floor of the hall, she walked beside Dorothy, who didn't seem in the slightest unsettled by the lack of screaming. Instead she rapped with some confidence onto a door, that looked just like the last ten they had walked past. It took some seconds, before the door was opened.

“Good morning, sister.”

The young woman in the frame, who Dot would later explain had been born as Sarah Rivett, even though she was now known as Sister Magdalene, was of rather plain looks. Possibly it had to do with the black habit she wore, that showed little more than a rough outline or with the total lack of any form of make-up, but Phryne had a suspicion that even in an evening frock the woman would not have been asked to dance by many men. Not, of course, that that would have been her intention. When the girl smiled though, Miss Fisher found to her surprise, that her heart lifted. There was something to the small white teeth, the way her eyes cracked into tiny wrinkles, that made Phryne want to have a coffee and chat with the woman.

“Dorothy! How wonderful of you to visit us. And you brought a friend with you?”

“Phryne Fisher. How do you do?”

Her extended hand was pressed with a warm, firm grip, that fit the nun perfectly. Phryne found that she breathed a sigh of relief. Members of religious orders were notoriously hard to greet and she had never quite gotten the hang of it.

“We brought some goods for the kitchen, sister.” Dorothy said, gesturing at the baskets, drawing another of those smiles from the woman in front of her.

“We better head right over there, then.”

With enthusiasm she pulled the door shut behind herself and gestured in a vague direction. Phryne followed the animatedly chatting pair with a little distance, only half listening to their discussion of the latest bake sale and instead sweeping her eyes over the pictures along the corridors. It was only a short trip. The kitchen was hard to miss. All the noise Phryne had been looking for in vain, wandering the halls of this school, had escaped to here. The clattering of pots, crackling of fires and loud discussions greeted the trio from afar. A rather annoyed looking man escaped the chaos just when they reached the door. Barely avoiding a crash into Dorothy Williams, he stopped cold.

“I am so sorry, Miss Williams. I just had a small disagreement with Sister Ruth. I fear my temper is not quite mild enough to withstand her abilities to infuriate me. God help me.”

At this he smirked, a fact that slightly shocked Miss Fisher. Men of god hardly smirked in her personal experience and she made a mental note to ask Dot further about the priest at a later point in time.

“Don't worry yourself, Father Rafael, I have known Sister Ruth for many years and fully appreciate your feelings.”

There was something very close to a wink accompanying Dot's answer and Phryne found herself following the conversation with some curiosity. It was the first time, she witnessed Miss Williams in her natural habitant outside of her own house and Miss Fisher found herself mildly surprised at the ease with which she moved and talked. Only now did Father Rafael become aware of the third woman, standing slightly behind the two familiar faces and a hint of recognition ghosted through his warm green eyes, that reminded Phryne of a necklace of Russian Jade she hadn't worn in a while. She really should find it.

“Miss Fisher, I assume?”

He greeted her with a certain wariness that Phryne suspected she owned to Father Grogan.

“I must say, the descriptions I heard of you sounded a lot more dreadful.” He laughed, the meaning of his words occurring to him a moment too late. “Of course not from Dorothy, her accounts of you are always very favourable.” He attached quickly, with a fond smile to the young maid who had a blush creeping over her neck.

“Those feelings are completely mutual, Father Rafael. I don't know where I would be without Dot. And I really hope her wedding will be absolutely perfect.”

Phryne Fisher found herself suddenly wishing that the ceremony would happen under the humorous eyes of this man, rather than under the judgemental stare of Father Grogan. But right now she was rather interested in steering the priest away from Dot so she could ask him about Thana. Somehow she had a feeling that he would have gotten along with the girl. Thankfully, it turned out not too hard a task to detach themselves from Miss Williams, who was happily chatting along with Sister Magdalene.

Phryne all but pulled Father Rafael towards a window, that showed the bluestone of the church

“I really hope this whole dreadful business about the murder will not get in the way of my girl tying the knot with Constable Collins.” She whispered, her eyes glued to Dot. A shadow crept onto the priests face.

“Poor Thana.” He whispered back. “Such a young woman ripped from life so senselessly. The Lord's ways are indeed sometimes hard to understand.”

Phryne nodded at this darkly. She supposed, considering it God's will that a young woman ended up with a knife in her chest, was one way of looking at it.

“Did you know her?” She couldn't help but asking.

“Of course. Everybody here knew her, she helped out in the kitchen several times a week. Always friendly and smiling. She is sorely missed, Miss Fisher.” On an afterthought he followed it with: “But do not worry yourself. Dorothy and her groom will have a wonderful ceremony, Father Grogan will make sure of that. He is very fond of her.”

That did not calm Miss Fisher's worry in the slightest, but she didn't say so.

 

X

 

The golden liquid moved lazily around the cup, chased by the spoon. Miss Wentworth stared blindly into her tea, unsure if she had added sugar yet or not. She resolved to take some more. It was not as if it really mattered. She seemed to be able to feel every single bone in her body today, owned to a sleepless night and her arthritis that was working as a constant reminder of what had happened. She raised her eyes to look at the suffering Jesus upon the crucifix, wondering if she should go to the church and have a talk with him about what was to be done. But she decided not to. Since wiping Thana's blood of the steps, a task that had taken her a long time and even more strength while the water in her bucket had slowly turned crimson, she wasn't sure she could stand sitting down there anymore. Miss Wentworth was wondering if she was losing her faith or her mind or both. She wasn't sure which she feared the most.

The housekeeper didn't look up, when Father Grogan swept through the door, a stack of books in hand. He halted as he saw her sitting bent over the kitchen table, feeling a twinge to his gut that he couldn't quite explain. He had the question lying on his tongue like a piece of lead, but finally chose to retreat in silence.

Miss Wentworth sighed and picked up the milk jug. She'd better get on with her tea, luncheon wouldn't sort itself and she still had to clean the stairs. She took a sip of the bittersweet liquid, glancing at Jesus. If only he would tell her what to do. But then again, the Lord wasn't a man of easy answers.

 

X

 

 

Detective-Inspector Robinson stomped down the gloomy hall, radiating importance. It was his usual form of movement, when he was on duty. While the badge opened some doors for you, his experience showed, that most doors just swung out of the way when you walked straight at them. Beneath his professional exterior Jack's heart was fluttering in his chest like a scared bird. The message from the hospital had been cryptic. Some change had occurred in Patrick Blanchsfield's state and he had been urged to come to the hospital. Hot on his heels was Collins, with less importantance and more eagerness, but just as confused.

Turning a corner hastily, the Inspector almost ran into a young, pretty redhead. Despite himself, his feet came to a screeching halt.

“Amber?”

“Inspector Robinson!”

He was not quite certain, if the smile on the girl's face was genuine. They shared a rather complicated history, Amber Walters being involved in both, his kidnapping and later on his rescue. Besides which was the tiny detail of saving her his life, that in the end secured her freedom, despite being an accessory. So, he would not have been overly surprised, if her joy about seeing him again was rather limited. Only now he took in her appearance. She wore a white coat, restricted to a very small population in a hospital.

“You are a doctor?” He asked, his confusion rising.

“Student of medicine.” She corrected him. “Doctor MacMillian allows me to help out in the hospital in my free time.”

Jack Robinson found himself so astonished, that he briefly forgot to worry about Patrick. If Mac had taken Amber under her wings, Phryne would have to know, wouldn't she? So, why didn't he? Something clenched in his stomach, that he currently didn't have the time for.

“It was a pleasure to see you again, Amber, but I am here to see a patient.”

He pushed past her, before she could protest. The future doctor's eyes followed him with interest. Then she shrugged her thin shoulders and went on with her work.

Hugh Collins, who had followed the exchange in curious silence, stopped the Inspector by taking his arm.

“I believe, it's here, sir.” He stuttered.

Jack nodded slowly. Right. He looked at the brown door, then let his eyes sweep along the corridor in the vain hope that magically a doctor would appear, telling him what was the matter. He would have much preferred that to barging into the room again, where probably the piercing eyes of Patrick's mother would wait with judgement for the man who had hurt her son.

“He broke into your home.” Jack whispered under his breath. It had turned into a mantra.

“Sorry, Sir?”

“Never mind, Collins.”

With resolve Jack pushed down the handle. His knees threatened to buckle underneath him, when his eyes fell on the bed.

 

 


	11. Ruby

On Sister Magdalene's return to her office, she was greeted by a pair of dark eyes. The nun quickly pulled the door shut behind herself.

“What are you doing here? Even you need to understand, how bloody stupid that is!” She hissed.

The young man got up and gripped both her hands in his own.

“I'm sorry, Sarah, but you need to believe that I didn't kill Thana.”

The girl pulled her hands out of his gentle grasp.

“I know that! But the coppers don't. How much of a fool can you be, Richard? Please go home, don't come here again! There are children about, if any of them see you...”

She trailed off, as she watched the dark shadow creeping over his face. It was so familiar, that her breath hitched.

“Richard.” She dragged his name like chewing gum. “What is it? What have you done?!”

His head flew up at this, glittering in anger.

“What have I done? I haven't done anything! I wanted to get her things and... something happened.”

Sister Magdalene hat to sit down. Her legs weren't carrying her anymore.

 

X

 

The heat had become even more suffocating when Phryne and Dot finally left the school behind, each with a supposedly empty basket attached to their arm. Miss Fisher glanced over to the bluestone walls, as they walked past the St. Ignatius church. She was still wondering about the strange meeting with Sister Ruth. The nun was probably the direct opposite of Sister Magdalene. Tall, with high cheekbones and almost white skin, she was of a classic beauty, that was completely spoiled by the scorn around her lips. Phryne had briefly tried to talk to her about Thana, but found that the woman, who might have been at the beginning of her forties, seemed to hold a particular grudge against the girl. Not so much for the work she had done inside the school and church, as that was quite acceptable, she had insisted. However, her sudden demise and the workload she had left behind as a result, seemed to be taken as a personal offence by the strict nun. A rather awkward approach to someone being murdered, Miss Fisher found.

“Did you know that the spire is the highest building in Australia, Miss?“ Dot interrupted her thoughts.

Phryne had had no idea and let an appreciative gaze flicker up the tower, blinking into the grey light. Probably this was the moment, she should say it.

“Actually Dot, I would really like to have another look into the church.”

She held her breath. If Dorothy insisted on coming inside, she would drag her to the car kicking and screaming, the lady detective decided. But luckily Miss Williams had completely different plans which she revealed with a slight blush.

“If you don't mind, Miss, I would rather drop in on Miss Wentworth for a minute myself. She seems to enjoy my Gingersnap Biscuits.”

She shook her basket, that was not quite as empty as assumed and turned on her heels, to stalk off into the direction of the presbytery. Miss Fisher's took the door to her left, that lead her straight into the nave. Being back felt certainly strange. The marble steps in front of the altar shone in innocent white, belying the fact that there had ever been a dead body lying upon them. Phryne took some steps closer. What had Thana wanted here so early in the morning? And her murderer? What had he been looking for? With gentle steps Phryne climbed up into the Sanctuary. She had no witnesses. The only believer currently in the church was an elderly lady that seemed to be either deeply enthralled in prayer or might have simply fallen asleep. Phryne paid her no mind, as she crouched down beside the stairs, where only two days ago, Thana's body had been cooling. Somewhere around here the answer had to be to what had enraged someone so much as to kill a girl in front of god's eyes. A memory turned up unexpectedly. Crude Pictures Miss Fisher had seen about human sacrifices in antique South America. She shuddered. Could this have been a ritual murder? She got up and looked around, inspected the carefully formed white marble, the candles in the golden holders and the black and golden crucifix above the tabernacle. Something beautiful caught her eye. In the middle of the golden door hiding the holy wafers from the eyes of mere mortals, there glittered a big stone in deep red, almost the colour of blood. Phryne could not remember having seen it the last time she had been here, even though it must have been there. Then again, the corpse might have distracted her. She stretched out her fingers, but flinched, when a rather angry voice sounded.

“Don't you dare touch the tabernacle.”

An infuriated Father Grogan stepped beside her, not quite fitting between her and the holy cabinet, but making clear by a rise of his impressive white brows, that he was not willing to watch her go any further. Miss Fisher smiled. This was going to get interesting.

“Is that a ruby, Father Grogan?” She asked levelly.

“Yes, it is. A kind donation a long time ago.” He stated icily.

“A very pretty stone.” She smiled, revelling in the way his ears were turning crimson. “And very expensive, too. It is rather big, for such a precious and brittle stone, isn't it?”

Father Grogan agreed stiffly, not hiding his contempt about the earthly considerations Miss Fisher was harbouring. Seemingly oblivious she cocked her head and parted her red lips into a smile.

“Are you aware, Father Grogan, that rubies are said by Indian legend to be shards of demon's blood?”

Miss Fisher had to suppress a chuckle at the grimace that answered her question. She had to admit that by now she was willingly provoking the priest's temper to flare. But she should probably stop, before he imploded and spilled more blood onto the beautiful altar.

Again she stretched out her hand, but her arm was caught in an iron grip by the priest, who all but growled: “I will have you know that rubies where one of god's gift to human kind. However to a true Christian, there are things of higher value than money and precious stones, Miss Fisher. In fact, it is written in the bible that a virtuous woman's price is far above rubies. Not that you would know anything about virtues.”

Miss Fisher glared at the priest, who was still holding onto her arm, considering strongly what effect her heel would have on his shin and if she could actually hit it under his flowing skirt. He scowled back. By the look of his shoulders trembling in pure rage, he was pondering the question if another murder would scare his flock out of the church completely.

“Miss! Father!”

Yelling ripped both of them out of their little angry world. The voice belonged to Dorothy Williams, who ran towards them in a manner that was not suitable to a holy building. But Father Grogan's disapproval got stuck in his throat, as he noticed the girl's face that bore an unusually shade of chalk white.

“Dot!”

He watched on, as Miss Fisher shook his hand off easily and ran towards her companion, worry spelled in every muscle. “Dot? What happened?”

She took the girl by the shoulders, trying to shake the truth out of her. Miss Williams gasped for air.

“Miss Wentworth! I think she is...” Father Grogan's feet were slapping over the wooden floor at full speed, before the girl had finished the sentence. “...dead.”


	12. Chalk

The formerly quiet presbytery was positively swarming with police by the time Inspector Robinson and Constable Collins arrived. It had taken a while to get a hold of them at the hospital and the roads had been busy for a Tuesday afternoon. Stepping into the gloomy hall, the familiar smell of incence in his nose, Jack Robinson immediately saw the woman. Miss Wentworth was lying turned away from him, her head twisted at an angle that didn't seem quite right. The Inspector took his hat off, as he crouched down beside her and frowned. It appeared very much like an unfortunate accident. The housekeeper must have been past her sixtieth birthday, the stairs at who's feet her body was lying were steep and the arthritis wouldn't have helped her attempts to hold on when she slipped. But then again, Thana's death had definitely not been an accident and those stairs lead up to her room. His gaze swept up the wooden steps, while he listened to his thoughts. 

“Does look awfully like an accident, doesn't it?” He heard a familiar voice right beside his ear. Phryne's perfume was overlaying the smell of burning herbs and Jack found he was thankful for it. In fact he wished he could take her home right now and sleep in her arms for a week. But, that was not going to happen. He pushed himself up to stand.

“It does. I don't like it.”

He turned to witness her purse her red lips.

“Strange Coincidence.” She pointed out and the Inspector had to whole-heartedly agree. However, there was nothing to prove otherwise.

“Collins...”

The Constable was nowhere to be seen. The Inspector couldn't remember having sent him away and could only hope that he had actually decided to do his job without further nudging. Miss Fisher's head pointed towards the open kitchen door.

“Dot found her.” She whispered.

“That would at least explain the absence of my Constable. I only hope that after the wedding he will remember that he is actually working for the police force, Miss Fisher.”

A weak smile ghosted over his features, as Phryne lay a soothing hand on his arm that wasn't really necessary. The Inspector had come to terms with the fact that, for Hugh Collins, Miss William's well being came before his duties for this city. And he probably would have called him a fool if it had been otherwise. A cold thought cut through his mind, which wasn't missed by the attentive eyes of Miss Fisher.

“Are you alright, Jack?”

Inspector Robinson nodded grimly.

“I will tell you later.” He promised upon her inquisitive stare. She sighed theatrically and followed him into the kitchen, where a strange collection of people was sitting around the table, in the middle a bowl of untouched biscuits. Dorothy Williams looked, the Inspector found, exactly as was to be expected. Pale, shaken and upset. She sat sandwiched between Hugh Collins, who was all but kneeling at her feet, trying to pat the pain away and a man the Inspector remembered vaguely, who was talking to her quietly. While they all looked distressed, he was most surprised by Father Grogan's appearance. The man seemed to have aged a decade since he had last seen him, his snow white hair now making him look old rather than authoritative. Whatever emotions Inspector Robinson might have missed in the priest upon the murder of Thana, Miss Wentworth's deathly tumble down the stairs had made evident now. While the man would never sink so low as to disgrace himself by crying in public, his eyes were sitting deep in his skull, surrounded by grey shadows, that weren't quite able to conceal a suspicious red tinge.

“I'm sorry for your loss, Father.” Jack heard himself say. He was not quite sure if that was the etiquette for housekeepers, but his current suspicion was a different one.

“Hugh, I think you better take Dot home. Inspector Robinson can talk to her later.” Phryne cut in with a fleeting look at the trembling lips of her companion. “Take my car.” She whispered, as the Constable obediently got up and helped his fiancée to her feet. Father Rafael also rose.

“I will be in my office in the school, if you need me, Inspector. But I don't think there is much I can help with.” The policeman nodded at this.

“Are you feeling able to give a statement, Father Grogan?” He inquired gently from the broken man. Two empty eyes fixed upon him.

“Of course, Inspector. However, there is nothing I could contribute to your investigations. I was in the church with Miss Fisher, when...” He stopped, suddenly appearing to have temporarily lost his gift of speech. The clock on the wall ticked obtrusively loudly, while the detectives waited. “When Miss Williams came about to tell us about her find.” He finally finished in a rough but calm voice.

“Did Miss Wentworth seem unusual to you at all this morning, Father?” Jack gently prodded.

“She was upset, obviously. Miss Wentworth was a very compassionate woman, she didn't take Thana's death lightly. I should have...” He trailed off again. The detectives waited, but the priest seemed this time not inclined to finish his thought.

“At the moment everything points to an accident.” Detective-Inspector Robinson explained. “But I would still like to look round Miss Wentworth sleeping quarters, to be sure we don't miss anything.”

At this, Father Grogan tore his eyes from the tabletop again.

“Inspector Robinson, if Miss Wentworth was murdered, it is your duty to find her killer. And while I believe that God should be the judge of every human being, may the Lord help him if I get him between my fingers.”

Jack was taken aback by the sudden passion that flared in Father Grogan's eyes on this statement and folded it away for later inspection. Followed by Miss Fisher he stepped over the chalk outline left behind by the body that was just being moved to the morgue and trod up the creaking stairs. Only when he hit the landing, did he realise that he hadn't asked for directions.

“You wouldn't happen to know, where our deceased housekeeper was sleeping?” He asked and pulled the first door open, without waiting for an answer. He was looking at a collection of brooms, before turning to Phryne, who was already down the hall. She pointed at a picture of the Madonna cradling her child.

“My best guess would be under the watchful eyes of the Blessed Virgin Mary.” She said, pushing down the handle of the nearby door, that swung open with a gentle groan. “Well look at that!”

The Inspector had stepped behind Miss Fisher, looking over her shoulder. If asceticism was meant to be a pillar of Christian virtue, Miss Wentworth had not gotten the notice. Phryne, who had quite a weakness for decorative clutter herself, was gaping at the frills, patterns and figurines covering every millimeter of the housekeeper's bedroom.

“Very... feminine.” Jack Robinson stated weakly, clearing his throat. Miss Fisher made a first tentative step into the room, as if being scared the flowery fabrics draped everywhere in sight, might attack her at any given moment. Getting more courageous she let a finger trail over a spotlessly dusted sideboard, that held a dozen framed pictures. One of them captured the detectives attention in particular. “Jack?”

He murmured an answer, currently staring at a doll in something looking like a frilly lace pyjama, but stepped over to have a look at her findings.

“They look quite cosy.” He stated a second later, staring at an old photograph of a much younger Miss Wentworth in a quite pretty and of course rather floral dress, the arm of a handsome young man wrapped around her shoulder.

“Maybe a little _too_ cosy for a priest and his housekeeper.”

 

X

 

Mr. Butler was not an easily surprised man. This kind of came with the job. He hadn't batted an eyelid, when the “Spinster” whose service he had entered had turned out to be Miss Fisher – a woman as prudish as the Kama Sutra. He hadn't even worried, when she had suddenly and without a husband, produced a child from whom he had to hide the silver for several weeks, before Jane had realised that there was not point in stealing one's own cutlery. Mr. Butler had even taken it in his stride, when the Inspector had turned from a recurring guest to a resident at the Fisher household. Even though Jack Robinson himself seemed to be confused by this turn of events to the current day. So it said something about the servants shock, when Hugh Collins climbed out of the drivers seat of Miss Fisher's car. He flung the door open to meet the young Constable and the pale woman slightly resembling Miss Williams at the gate.

“Good heavens. What happened?” He asked, forgetting all etiquette.

“Dottie stumbled over a body.” Hugh explained quietly, just out of earshot from his fiancée. “Not a pretty sight, I might add.”

“I can walk by myself, Hugh Collins, thank you all the same.” Dot fended off her beau, when he tried to grab her arm. With that she stomped down the garden path in deep determination. The two confused men followed her every move with their eyes.

“Are you coming? I will make you some tea before you have to head back to the station.” She called out upon reaching the door. The Constable and the Butler looked at each other, shrugging their shoulders simultaneously, before the police officer bustled after his girl who had already hung up her coat.


	13. Lapis Lazuli

Miss Fisher absent-mindedly crossed her legs, the bright blue fabric of her skirt slipping up briefly to show a little of her stocking covered thigh. Inspector Robinson found that that was enough for him to lose track of the sentence he had just been forming. God, when had he turned into an hormonal adolescent undone by the pure proximity of a woman? And it seemed to get worse lately, with her soft skin under his fingers feeling like it was the only thing tying him to this planet and him hungering for her touch with the neediness of a starving man. The sound of Phryne slapping the folder down she had been studying, shook him rudely out of his thoughts.

“So the knife had only Thana's own prints on it. That isn't overly helpful.”

The Inspector returned to the job at hand.

“And Miss Wentworth's.” He stated thoughtfully.

“Well, that's not really surprising if it was a kitchen knife from the presbytery.” Miss Fisher threw in. “And while I am not an expert in knife sets, that's where it seems to come from. Which bears the question, how the killer could have gotten a hold of it unless it was Miss Wentworth \- highly unlikely with her arthritis – or Father Grogan.”

Jack attempted to stare a hole into his table.

“Thana's prints were all over the knife though. Even if our killer had worn gloves, he would have wiped the prints some time in the progress.”

Their eyes locked over the desk.

“So Thana brought her own murder weapon?” Miss Fisher finally stated. “Why would she go into the church in the early hours of the morning, armed with a kitchen knife?”

“To defend herself?”

“From whom? And how did she get...” She trailed off, picking up another folder. “Didn't the coroner's report say something about wooden splinters in the stab wound?”

“You think she broke into the sacristy? Again, for what reason?”

“Looking for something. Protection? Something to steal? Probably depending on how desperate she was.”

Detective-Inspector Robinson sighed. This case was becoming increasingly frustrating. None of it really added up. There were rather expensive looking pieces of art to be found in the presbytery, yet a good Catholic girl decides to break into the church rather than just take those? That made no sense.

“But even if she was able to get into the church using the knife that ended up in her chest, the doors were locked when Father Grogan, Miss Wentworth and the boys arrived.”

“So the murderer locked the door after himself. Which would point the finger to the inhabitants of the presbytery again.”

“Or to anyone who walked into the school.” Jack Robinson stated, leaning back in his chair. “I haven't been twiddling my thumbs while you were accidentally running into your old acquaintance yesterday, Miss Fisher. There are many people working in the St. Ignatius school and a key to the church is hanging quite openly in one of the offices, for anyone to come along and take. Actually it's quite surprising that Thana didn't think of that. It would have made the brief remainder of her life alot easier.” He finished dryly.

Miss Fisher gave him a look that told him that his joke had been of rather poor taste. She picked up some other sheets and started.

“Jack! This is a statement of Patrick Blanchfield. From this morning!”

Detective-Inspector Robinson didn't flinch at the open accusation in her voice, even though he felt the urge to crawl under his desk to hide. In light of Miss Wentworth's sudden demise he had completely forgotten to tell Phryne about the hospital.

“So it is.” He said as calmly as possible.

Phryne looked at him as if he had slapped her. Then it passed. Just like that.

“That's where you were then, when you were called in?” She asked, her voice as smooth as an ice field.

He nodded slowly. Jack Robinson did not tell his lover that he almost fainted in sheer relief when he had walked through that door and Patrick had been sitting up in bed, like he had never been in danger of losing his life at all. He didn't tell her either, that his parents seemed to have gotten over their hatred the moment their son had opened his eyes. He didn't even tell her about Patrick apologising, blushing and under the menacing glare of his mother, to the policeman for breaking into his house; that it had probably been the most awkward conversation of his life, but that now he was aware what Daniel had meant by Patrick being a strange kid because of his parents. Instead he said: “He is sticking to the story MacAllister told us. That he wanted his poem back. Thana had no idea who her secret admirer was, apparently. Which gives him little motive.”

The DI pretended to not see the disappointment in Miss Fisher's look about all the things that weren't spoken. He didn't know what to say, how to explain. Only his eyes begged her to let it slip. And so she did.

“Do you believe, Miss Wentworth harboured romantic feelings for our Father Grogan?” She asked, dropping subject and statement equally.

“I wouldn't be surprised.” Jack answered, releasing the breath he had been holding. “And his reaction seemed a little bit over the top for a dead housekeeper. But can you see those two having a relationship in secret?”

Phryne shook her head.

“There are many unkind things I could say about that man, but he doesn't strike me as a hypocrite.” She paused, a crease appearing between her eyes. “But if they were in love and restrained themselves for all those years – what a waste.”

“I know restraint is not your territory.” He joked, but not drawing the reaction he had hoped for.

He watched her chew on her lower lip, deep in thought. Silence took over the room. Outside the world continued with ringing phones and the screaming of an annoyed criminal who didn't like his arrest. In here it was just them.

“I'm sorry, Phryne.”

Her surprise was obvious.

“What for?”

“Everything.”

That didn't seem to satisfy her. He thought for a while, fiddling with a pen.

“For attacking the intruder, instead of coming to your aid.” He finally spoke, quietly. She drew a deep breath.

“You are a policeman, Jack. You will always go for the man in the black hood first, before you look after the person on the floor. That very fact has saved my life on numerous occasions.”

Inspector Robinson wanted to tell her everything. Wanted to tell her, that he hadn't been a policeman at all that night, that something inside of him had snapped and that he was scared out of his wits of the lurking black hole. But he didn't. Because she chose that moment to walk around his desk, pull him to his feet and run a tender hand through his hair and down his neck, that rendered thinking hard and talking completely impossible. When she stretched up to meet his mouth with hers, his eyes closed on their own accord while he fell into the kiss, feeling the earth spinning under his feet. Her hands slipped under his shirt and Jack found to his surprise, that his arms had pulled her close, pressing her warm body against his own, that was already starting to respond to her soft frame being too close and not close enough at once. He ran his fingers through her silky hair and down over her back, drawing a contented sigh from her that made his stomach flip, all the while not releasing her mouth. Jack felt he was rapidly losing it, his head was spinning, but with a breathless gasp for air he resurfaced.

“Phryne.” He panted, releasing her from his arms gently. “We can't do this. Not here.” Pointedly he looked at the two doors to his office that could be invaded at any second by the various policemen of this station.

Miss Fisher sighed deeply, but nevertheless let go of him. Shaking with unresolved longing Jack tugged his shirt back in, not daring to look at her in fear of losing his head again.

“Tonight then.” She smiled, turning to the door.

“Tonight.” He said, trying himself on a grin, that came out rather loop sided. Tonight seemed an incredibly long time away.

 

X

 

The afternoon dragged on with boring paperwork and interviews that didn't get him anywhere. Miss Wentworth's death was another one that Detective-Inspector Robinson felt he could not solve, even though – unlike Thana's – there was nothing mysterious about it. She had been elderly and shaken and had slipped on the wet steps. Could it really be as simple as that? Jack was too good a policeman to believe in simple answers. He wiped a sweaty strain of hair from his forehead. The heat pressing through the closed window of his office was getting unbearable. Dark clouds had been hanging in the sky for hours, but still there was no sign of a relieving storm. 

At two minutes before six he decided that he had waited long enough for “tonight” and fished for his hat and coat.

“Night, Collins.”

“Night, Sir.”

Detective-Inspector Robinson had almost reached the door leading him out into the street, when a niggling feeling made him turn around to look at Constable Collins, who was sitting quietly and unmoving behind his counter, looking like he was having a silent battle in his head.

“Alright, Collins. What is it?”

The young man was wringing his hands, without looking up, a habit that usually woke the urge to strangle him in Jack Robinson. That it didn't tonight, said something about how worried he was in this very moment.

“Do you reckon, sir... Do you believe in bad omens?”

Two huge eyes searched out the Inspector and he had to set his hat down, to think about this.

“You mean, will the two dead women put your marriage with Miss Williams under a bad star?” He asked. “Nonsense, Collins. A marriage has many ways of failing, not the least of them being someone's death, but that person has to be involved in said marriage for it to crumble.” The Inspector gave his Constable a tiny smirk. But the young man didn't seem satisfied with the answer.

“I'm just wondering, Sir. With everything that happened and Dot being all shaken up, if it wouldn't be better to... not get married.”

Had he hit the Inspector over the head with the telephone he couldn't have shocked him more. Jack licked his lips, searching his hot brain for words.

“Constable, do you love Miss Williams?” He heard himself ask.

Now Collins seemed to stumble for words.

“Of course I love her, I just thought -”

“And do you want to marry her.” Jack pushed on. The Constables face showed first signs of being offended now.

“Of course, Sir, or I wouldn't have asked her for her hand.”

Detective-Inspector Robinson pondered this for a moment.

“If you love her and you want to marry her, then the world ending shouldn't keep you from doing so.”

Hugh nodded at this, slowly, letting the words of wisdom sink in. Jack Robinson watched the emotions playing out on his face, hoping to God that the two kids would work it out.

“Marriage isn't an easy task, Collins. There will be many more hurdles to overcome. But if Miss Williams is the woman you want to share your life with then you will have to get through the obstacles together. That's part of the deal.”

Collins stared at his hands that were still twisting.

“Thank you sir.”

Jack gave him a nod, then picked up his hat and walked out into the heat of the evening.


	14. Emerald

 

By the time he finally arrived at the Fisher Residence, sweat was pouring down Jack Robinson's back. He silently hoped that Phryne would give him some time to freshen up before she dragged him into her boudoir to do unspeakable things to him. This was, as it turned out, not an issue, as Mr. Butler opened the door with some creases to his forehead that didn't bode well.

“Good evening, Inspector.”

A greeting on his lips, Jack walked past him, but again, something made him turn around.

“Is Miss Fisher in?” He had asked, before he even knew why. A sinking feeling in his stomach told him, that she wasn't. The butler had the decency to look upset about having to deny this.

“I'm afraid she went to the House de Fleuri with Dorothy, Sir. Miss Williams felt she needed another look at her bridal gown.”

Jack nodded in understanding, his jaw clenched. So there went his evening plans.

“Would you like to take dinner now or after her return, Sir?” The servant asked. Jack pretended to think about this, while struggling not to show his disappointment.

“Thank you, Mr. Butler. But I'm not really hungry. I might take a bath and have an early night.” Stiffly he walked up the stairs. Mr. Butler looked after him with deep worry carved into his face. He didn't like the recent events, didn't like them at all. While the butler knew from experience, that wedding preparations had a tendency to see whole families go into meltdown, he had honestly not expected it in this house. There was too much love and too little convention living between those four walls. Mind you, bodies dropping left and right probably would give the most of balanced people a head spin. He wondered briefly if he should follow upstairs to offer Inspector Robinson his help, as he usually did, knowing full well it would be turned down, as it usually was – but decided that today there was no room for games like this. So instead he sighed and returned to the kitchen battling the annoying urge to bake Gingersnap biscuits.

 

X

 

He felt better – or at least, so he told himself. Jack had soaked in the bathtub till his skin had held a certain resemblance to a prune. He had chosen to use Phryne's rather than the one in the big bathroom down the hall that she'd had installed some time ago, when the amount of people living in her house had started to make her bedroom require a revolving door on hot days. Now he was wrapped up in his cotton pyjamas lying against a mountain of her pillows, the fan spinning lazily on the ceiling making the heat bearable. Jack Robinson could not have said why exactly he had chosen to sleep in her bedroom rather than his own. It still felt a little bit like he was intruding, even though he had spent many nights there. Just never without her. With her presence in every detail of this room and under the watchful eyes of her painted likeness, that, he found on afterthought, didn't actually do her justice, he just felt less alone. Plus, at some point she had to return, hadn't she? And he wouldn't take the risk of her deciding that maybe she didn't feel like sleeping in his bed tonight. Instead of turning into that track of thoughts, he fished his watch from the night stand that showed almost 9 o'clock. Could a salon be open this long? Jack Robinson took a deep breath and chose not to worry. Phryne and fashion was probably a combination that could take its time, throw a-barely-holding-onto-sanity bride into the mix and you had a pot you really didn't want to stir.

He picked up his novel and kept reading. Luckily he had left the part behind that had almost put him to sleep with the seemingly endless records on historically and legendary hedonists. Weather or not James I had a weakness for emerald encrusted jewellery was not a question, that could really hold the Inspectors attention for long, he had to admit to himself. Maybe Phryne would be more enthralled by these kinds of stories. She definitely seemed to have a weak spot for the glimmering green gem if her choice of necklaces was any indication. Half lost in fond memories, the Inspector stumbled harshly over a sentence that brought his attention back to the novel he was trying to read. “Sin is a thing that writes itself across a man's face. It cannot be concealed.” Was that true? How often had someone looking completely harmless turned out to be a cold blooded murderer? Jack's breath hitched in his throat. No, he was quite sure, that sin could be very well concealed. There was blackness lurking in unlikely places, in souls you wouldn't search for them. The Inspector read on quickly, but the tale grew only darker and more disturbing. Just when Dorian Gray murdered his oldest friend, stabbing him in the throat with a knife, a humorous voice cut through his reverie.

“I wasn't aware, that we already reached the state of our relationship, where we read in bed.”

Jack didn't look up, even though his heart was fluttering in relief, making an uncalled for smile spread over his face.

“What else you expect me to do while you look at pretty dresses, Miss Fisher?”

She sat down onto the bed heavily and slipped the shoes off her aching feet.

“It was more an attempt to keep my companion from having a nervous breakdown about the colouring not longer suiting the tone of her skin, I fear.” She sighed theatrically, rolling herself onto bed in full dress and peeling the book from his hands.

“How do you feel about a more physical entertainment option for the evening, Inspector?” She challenged. He finally looked at her, a mixture of humour and desire glimmering in his dark eyes.

“I thought, you'd never ask.”

Before Phryne could come up with an answer, she found herself flat on her back, Jack pinning her to the bed with his full weight. Somewhere Dorian Gray's picture thudded to the floor. Neither of them paid it any mind, as their eyes locked, hers wide in surprise. He grinned mischievously, then leant down to trail soft bites along her shoulder's and collarbone, while his hands were busy pulling up her skirt for better access. Phryne dug her finger into his hair and dragged him into a sweet, passionate kiss, before she let her head fall back and savoured his attentions. His hands were all over her body, leaving burning trails on her skin. She moaned her encouragement when his fingers slipped up her thigh without any of the usual ceremony. But nevertheless she opened her eyes in shock when she found just what he was doing there. He left her no time and definitely not enough room in her fuzzy brain for thought as he pulled inconvenient clothes out of the way and let his mouth proceed where his hands had left off. Heat racing through every fiber of her body that he touched, Phryne couldn't do much but hold on and enjoy the ride. When the first spikes of orgasm ripped through her, she dug her fingers into his hair and hoarsely whispered his name.

It wouldn't be the last time that night.

 

X

 

A blood-curdling scream tore her from deep sleep. Phryne Fisher sat up, her heart pounding in her ears. It took her foggy brain a moment to realise that the desperate yell had come from her own bed. The total silence that followed, was even scarier.

“Jack?” She whispered, aware from the way he breathed that his nightmare had woken him as well.

“I'm sorry, Phryne, please go back to sleep.” She heard him mumble in the darkness.

She obediently crawled back under the covers. Her heart rate slowed down, but she couldn't manage to drift back off. Jack Robinson had many nightmares, even though they had become less and further between since he had shared her bed. Miss Fisher was used to him stirring and trashing. But usually, if they woke him, he would crawl closer, wrap her in his arms and make silly comments about his overactive brain. Now, he lay at the other side of her big bed, stiffly and half turned from her. Something in his body language warned her to not dare and try to coax him out of it. And usually he didn't scream. Something was happening to him, that she couldn't put her finger on and the frustration about his ongoing silence caused her blood to boil. She turned away and tried to get back to sleep, a task that was rendered completely impossible by the leaden ball of anger and desperation in her stomach. After about 15 minutes she sensed movement behind her, felt Jack slipping onto the edge of the bed. Quietly she pulled herself upright, watching him. He was sitting with his back to her, but she could still see him staring at his right palm, as if it held the answer to all the questions of the universe. The wheels in Phryne's head were turning, pieces of a puzzle she hadn't been aware she was solving, fell into place.

“So what is the picture of Jack Robinson showing?”

Her voice sounded awfully loud and cold in the quiet, stuffy bedroom. His shoulders went rigid. She had hit the nerve, but there was no triumph in it. Just when she thought she wouldn't get an answer, he spoke, voice rough with emotion.

“Nothing you want to see, Phryne.”

Miss Fisher crawled closer and tried to wrap an arm around his naked chest, but instead of comforting him, it seemed to make things worse. The stiffness in his muscles was back, the one she had hoped to have defeated already.

“Try me.” She whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder while following his gaze to the still open hand that looked exactly like it always had. Warm, strong and very much part of him. She couldn't see anything there, wanting to or not, but the compassionate, brave man that was sharing her bed and life. The one who was currently shaking his head and gently removing her from his upper body.

“Excuse me, I need some fresh air.”

He pulled himself upright and collected his clothes, while she watched on in dismay. Then he bent over and brushed a kiss to her hair, an act that was meant to be calming, but wasn't.

“Get some sleep, Phryne. I'm sorry I woke you.”

Miss Fisher _didn't_ get any sleep. It wasn't so much her stubbornness that kept her from it, even though it may have played it's part, but the way the house lay in complete silence. She couldn't hear him return, as hard as she listened. Finally, she resolved to slip out of her bed and walk on tiptoes down the hall to his room. There was a hint of light filtering out through the door, but when she pushed down the handle, it wouldn't move. He had locked her out for the first time in their shared history and it made her want to beat down his door and then wring his neck. Instead she returned to her own bedroom and stubbornly went to sleep.

What she might have seen, if she _had_ broken down the door, was Jack Robinson sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at his trembling hands in disgust, the vivid memories of a nightmare flashing in front of his eyes, that he was quite certain he could never again erase from his brain. They had been back in St. Ignatius on the marble steps, looking for Thana's murderer and suddenly Phryne had stopped talking and looked down at her chest, where her white blouse was drenched in a ruby liquid spilling out from where the knife was still shivering. She had aimed her big blue eyes at Jack and said: “So it was you!” And when he had raised his own hands, there had been blood. Red, sticky, warm blood covering them, dripping off them, like it had done before. The kind of blood that you could never wash off, no matter how much soap and water you possessed.


	15. Coral

Miserably, Miss Fisher stirred her coffee - a completely pointless exercise, as she had chosen to drink it black today in the vain hope that it might awaken her senses. She felt drained and worn and that was really not something she appreciated, unless it happened through a night of passionate love making – which probably played a much smaller part in this case, than the fact that by the time she had woken alone, Jack's room had shown no sign of it's occupant.

“Mr. Butler?” She asked the servant, who was quietly tidying something in the corner, seemingly busy but mostly just staying around for good measure in an unobtrusive way.

“Yes, Miss?”

“When did the Inspector leave this morning?”

What she really wanted to ask was, if he was alright, but that was probably not a question you aimed at a servant randomly. Even if it was Mr. Butler.

“I'm afraid, I don't know, Miss. He was gone by the time I tried to wake him.”

Phryne Fisher nodded into her coffee silently. Her stomach churned in a way that had nothing to do with the untouched breakfast.

“I just don't understand.” She finally blurted out. “Patrick is awake. He should be overjoyed.”

When she looked up at the butler, tears stood in her eyes. “Instead he does everything in his power to make things complicated. What on earth is wrong with him?”

Mr. Butler did something he had never done before in his working life. He sat down and took his Mistress' hand, discretion be damned. She looked at him and for one heart-stopping second he feared he had overstepped the line, but instead she returned the gentle pressure and gave him a small, thankful smile.

“Sometimes things are deeper than the obvious, Miss.” He stated calmly. “Mr. Blanchfield's break-in might have stirred up something from the past, that the Inspector had buried deep in his soul.”

The Honourable Miss Fisher stayed silent. It had occurred to her, that Jack might be fighting some old battle rather than the current one. Her voice sounded like a small girl, asking her father about the world, when she opened her mouth again.

„But why doesn't he talk to me?” 

Mr. Butler smiled gently at her, resisting the urge to pat her hair. If he ever had had a daughter, she would have been exactly like Phryne Fisher, he was sure of it.

“Because he isn't used to it. Men aren't encouraged to share, Miss Fisher. They are meant to be strong and silent and carry their cross alone. I think Inspector Robinson has carried his a very long time.”

A knock at the door interrupted the heartfelt moment of shared wisdom. The Butler rose wondering if he had just broken down a wall or merely added stones to it. He was still pondering this, when he opened the door to a woman whose image momentarily took his breath away.

“This is Phryne Fisher's house, isn't it?” Riya Santi asked, extending a hand to the butler as if it was the most normal gesture in the world. He shook it without hesitation.

“Yes, yes, please come through.”

Mr. Butler all but pulled the woman, dressed in a cloud of fluttering coral red fabric that moved with her like a wild fire, into the house, without releasing her hand. He found it actually rather hard to let go of her.

“Who may I announce?” He asked, finally finding his etiquette again, but being in the same moment interrupted by Miss Fisher, who was standing in the doorframe leading into the dining room.

“Riya!”

Her tone made very clear that she not only knew the woman but also was overjoyed to see her. Mr. Butler couldn't blame her. Since the lady didn't seem to have a coat or hat to take care of, he decided to retreat to somewhere silent and wonder there, what the heck had just happened to him.

He might have been interested in the fact, that Mrs. Santi's almond eyes followed the back of his bald head for a second, before she snapped out of it and pulled Phryne into her own parlour by the hand.

“Phryne, you look terrible and you _will_ tell me in a minute what is going on with you, but first I need to share the news with you.” 

The women sank down together onto the love seat.

“Do you remember Professor Blumenthal? Tall, grey, quite wrinkly by now? No. Oh well. He is the only man I could find who is able to read this language, Phryne. It isn't Indian really.”

Miss Fisher started to get excited.

“So what does it say?”

On this, Riya got serious.

“I'm afraid, I don't know that yet. He is about 97 and as blind as a bat. But he insists on doing the translation himself. Mind you, he seems to be the only one in Melbourne who can. It will take a few more days I fear. But I can finally tell you where the girl is from, if that helps.”

Miss Fisher listened.

 

X

 

The rusty hinges screeched at him in protest, when Ryan unlocked the door and gently pushed it inside. Dust floated through the air, glittering faintly in the brave sunlight that had managed to battle it's way through the dirty windows. Something smelled faintly strange. But it wasn't bad, not as bad as he had expected.

He walked into the hall, pulling a sheet off a old sideboard. A family of mice scrambled away, obviously disturbed in their home. Alright, so this would have to go. Behind him another man bustled through the door.

“Holy cow! We got our work cut out for us.” Bert exclaimed, looking at the thick sheet of dust and grime on the floor.

“It's nice though.” Cec cut in, shoving his partner further into the room in order to get his own good look at the place they would spend the next days in.

“Nice if you are a vampire.” Bert grumbled, pulling another sheet from a mirror.

“I'm quite sure, that would be rather useless for a vampire.” Ryan pointed out. He was already planning this place in his mind, taking the grime off the windows and sorting the furniture into place. It would be beautiful. No, perfect.

 

 

X

 

Jack's fingers drummed a staccato onto his wooden desktop, while their owner stared blindly at the opposite wall. He was an idiot! The biggest idiot under the sun, in fact! Two days ago, Phryne Fisher had declared in this very room that she was not going to watch while he ran for the hills. The Honourable Miss Fisher, a woman as wild and untamed as the Australian Outback, who had nevertheless chosen to settle down with him, a sodding policeman – and the biggest idiot under the sun. And of course he had ran! It was pathetic. Yes, the nightmare had shaken him, it had scared the him senseless, if he was honest. But it had been only a dream. The smart and sober part of him that not fled from shadows, stated very loudly and clearly that he would never hurt Phryne. At least not in a physical way. There was no doubt about it on his mind that he had hurt her with his retreat. And he would be lucky if she'd chose to forgive him. In sudden resolve he got up and grabbed his hat. 

“Collins! I'm taking my break. I'll be at home if you need me.”

Home, it was still strange to call her house that. But he loved to do it nevertheless. And if necessary, he would fight for that right today, he decided as he stepped out of the City South Police Station, a wall of overbearing heat hitting him. Thunder growled in the distance. A storm was coming.

 


	16. Apache Tear

 

The grin plastered onto Mr. Butler's face when he opened the door, was faintly disturbing, Detective-Inspector Robinson found. But at least he didn't seem in the mood to hit him, which was more than could be expected. He knew that the servant was incredibly loyal to his mistress and while he might be restrained by the discretion his work brought with it, that didn't mean that he took it lightly when she got hurt. Jack respected him for that. 

“Inspector!” He said loud enough for it to be heard through most of the house. Jack flinched. He would have preferred to approach Phryne on his own accord. A look at the butler made clear, that he knew very well what his intention had been and that he was not going to be forgiven till he made this right.

Sheepishly he stepped into the house, hanging up his coat. Behind him, the first raindrop splattered onto the garden path.

He found Miss Fisher in the parlour, cradling a cup of tea with her feet pulled up onto the love seat, opposite a woman who looked like she had robbed a fabric company - in a very attractive sort of way. But it wasn't so much the rather daring layers of red dress surrounding her, that made her look so exotic, not even the colour of her skin or the dark eyes that stated clearly that her ancestry lay probably not in Ireland, it was the wild gestures and the laughter that echoed off the aquamarine walls. Phryne looked quite relaxed and it gave Jack a tiny stab that she didn't seem to have taken much notice of his absence.

He stood in the door, not quite sure what to do with himself, being in half a mind to leave again and let her enjoy her company. He couldn't really have the talk he had intended on while the woman was watching on. But it was too late, Phryne resurfaced from the story Riya had told her and spotted him.

“Jack!” She exclaimed, stretching out a hand to him. Obediently he walked towards her, trying to find in her eyes just how she really felt.

“Meet Riya Santi. An old friend from Britain, in exile here.” She laughed. “Riya, Detective-Inspector Jack Robinson. My partner in love and crime.”

Jack discovered that upon this description his mouth had fallen open. He shook himself out of it quickly, to take the offered hand and greet the lady properly. She measured him with dark eyes and nodded.

“So you are the man who has stolen my girl's heart then?” She asked, smiling. There was something in her look that made him understand that Mrs. Santi knew the whole story. “You better take care of her, Inspector. She is very special.”

He nodded, glancing at Phryne.

“So she is.”

Miss Fisher was still looking at him with humorous, neutral eyes, that showed no sign of hurt or anger. Jack was confused, but decided to sit down nevertheless.

“So you are the friend that is going to shed light on our victims diary then?” He enquired, after sinking into an amber armchair.

“That is why I have come here today. I have found someone who can translate, but he is old and it will take him some time. If he doesn't die before he is finished.”

Jack nodded. This rather crude comment had actually sounded charming coming from the woman's lips. Her hair that was draped up today into a rather messy knot moved with every gesture of her slender arms and every grimace of her expressive face. Even though her style was nothing like Miss Fisher's, Riya Santi was the kind of woman Jack expected Phryne to become when she grew older. With an even smaller regard for conventions, less fragile and with a deeper understanding of her own beauty. This sudden realisation awoke in Jack the deep longing to have enough time with her to see it happen. He stole another glance at his lover. She was listening to her friend completely absorbed, as Riya talked about Professor Blumenthal's many achievements and even more numerous flaws in vivid detail. Phryne's eyes were sparkling, her lips curled into a soft smile. She was so beautiful right now that his heart ached.

A familiar feeling crept under Jack's skin. One that reminded him that he was out of his depth, that he shouldn't be sitting in her parlour, shouldn't be here at all. He was the intruder who was stomping through her orchid garden in his crude leather shoes. And someday she would look up and see all the destruction he had left in his wake. Today might just be that 'someday'.

He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the thoughts that invaded his brain like little, red glowing needles. He had come here for good reasons and he would see them through. And if she would ask him to leave afterwards, then so be it. He cleared the sudden tightness of his throat and found two woman staring at him in confusion. The Inspector tried to force a smile. 

“I don't mean to interrupt, but: Have we figured out, what language is written in the diary?” He asked, after a seconds pause. “Or is Professor Blumenthal, brilliant as he may be, making it up, as he goes along?”

Now, for the first time, Riya Santi seemed to actually run out of words - If only for a moment. 

“Oh, dear. I'm sorry Inspector.” She laughed. “I was so enchanted by Phryne's company, that I almost forgot to tell you, what I have come here to tell. It's Burmese.”

Creases appeared on Detective-Inspector Robinson's forehead. Burmese?

“So Thana came from Burma?” He asked slowly, trying to sort information into the right drawers of his brain.

“Yes, and you know what the country is famous for?” Asked Phryne, challenge in her eyes.

“Poverty?” He threw back dryly. She rolled her eyes at him.

“Ruby mines.” Jack said calmly. “The most precious rubies in the world.”

Riya Santi looked on with some astonishment, as the two detectives connected, locking their eyes and sharing a thought.

“Would anyone be kind enough to tell me, what your poor dead girl has to do with jewellery?” She asked into the resulting silence.

“She died right under a huge ruby.” The Inspector said, somewhat surprising Phryne, before she finished: “That can't be mere coincidence.”

 

X

 

After Riya had left, refusing Mr. Butlers insistence on calling her a taxi, as she liked walking in the rain, the two detectives sat in silence. Heavy raindrops splashed against the parlours windows, playing a calming little melody in the background of their thoughts.

“It can't be coincidence!” Phryne insisted, getting up.

“She might have tried to steal it.” Jack stated the obvious. “I guess she would have been able to recognise the quality of it.”

“But a ruby that big would be hard to sell. It's not like you can just walk into a jewellery shop. That stone must be worth an immoral sum of money.”

“People do silly things when they get greedy.”

“I've seen her room, Jack. It didn't look like Thana was very attached to worldly goods.”

“Then maybe it _was_ just coincidence.”

He rubbed his tired face, watching Phryne stalk up and down like a lioness in captivity. Nothing about this case added up. She turned, something new dawning on her face.

“What if she surprised a thief?” She asked with new enthusiasm. “And he killed her in the struggle?”

“Why did she break into the church then?” Jack pointed out. “She could hardly know that a thief would come.”

Miss Fisher made an impatient noise in her throat, turning again.

“Unless she knew the thief.” The Inspector said under his breath, staring at the wall.

“You are thinking the abusive husband.” Phryne stated. It wasn't a question.

“If he followed her here, found that she had the trust of people around - maybe he decided she could assist him in getting to the expensive goods.”

“And she helped him? After she had run away from him?”

“Love and fear make people do the most stupid of things.”

Phryne sensed that the subject of their conversation had shifted. For the first time since his arrival she properly focused at the Inspector. He looked exhausted, his skin grey with worry. On the side table had, by magic, appeared a glass of whisky that she didn't remember him pouring and that worried and infuriated her in equal amounts. He didn't usually drink while he worked, she actually remembered him being strictly against it. She watched him down the amber liquid like water, even though the clock had hardly hit lunchtime. Unaware of her thoughts, Jack struggled for a way to say what needed to be said.

“I know that my behaviour last night was unforgivable.” He tried. “But nevertheless I apologise if I hurt you. It wasn't my intention.”

He wanted to say more, but there were no words left. So he just looked into her eyes, begging for forgiveness. The anger he spotted there made clear that he wouldn't get it, not this time. Not for last night and not for the things that she didn't even know about. To his utter astonishment, she grabbed his hand. He flinched, but let it happen. Turning it, she uncurled his balled up fingers, ran the tips of her own over the lines of his palm. Jack struggled with the sensation.

“What are you doing?” He whispered.

“I am looking for the real Jack Robinson.” She stated, her voice neutral. He pulled his hands back so harshly, that he almost threw her off balance, before jumping to his feet. Battling down the strong urge to flee, he resolved in pouring himself another drink. It was the wrong decision. When he turned, she was standing right behind him, grabbing the tumbler from his hand and flinging it to the ground.

“Stop!” She yelled. “Just stop.” She repeated quieter, panting in righteous anger. “I'm right here. And I am waiting for you to get over your silly boundaries and share your troubles with me. But my patience is wearing thin, Jack.”

He felt anger well up too now. At her for being so nosy, so damn intrusive, but mostly at himself for rather destroying what he had, than taking the risk of her knowing. His stomach turned to a lump of ice when he realised that he would lose her the one or the other way.

“Alright, Miss Fisher.” He heard himself say coldly, before he could change his mind and defuse the tension some other way. “You win. I will tell you what's bothering me and if you can't sleep either then, you can blame yourself for not letting it rest.”

His tiny hope that she might retreat after that was shattered. She looked at him stunned, but with open curiosity and he damned himself for being so weak.

“Death.” He pressed out. “There's death all over my picture, Phryne, there's blood dripping from it. I have killed dozens of men, stabbed them, shot them, I beat bloody rocks over their heads.” He laughed a hysterical little laugh that sounded more like a sob. “I smothered one in the mud once. Held him down till he stopped trying to stab me. And then some more, till he stopped trashing, too.”

Miss Fisher had gone silent. It infuriated Jack Robinson even more. 

“So that is the truth, Phryne. I am a killer! And now I run around Melbourne, trying to bring murderers to 'justice'.“ He spat the word in disgust, having raised his voice so much it echoed off the walls. “Where is my justice, Miss Fisher?! Who will hang me?!”

The intensity of his self-loathing hit Phryne like a brick wall and she took an instinctive step backwards. She knew the moment she looked into his face, that this had been the wrongest move she had ever made. Helpless, she watched on as the hatred drained away, making room for a dark realisation that clouded his eyes. She was scared! For the first time in history, Jack Robinson had actually managed to scare Phryne Fisher and a deep, dark part of him would have taken glory in this, if his heart wasn't too busy cracking into a million tiny shards. He looked at her a moment longer, nervously licking his lips, searching for something. Love, understanding, even anger would have done. But there was nothing but cold, blind shock. So this was it! He turned and walked out, letting the door fall shut behind himself, for the last time.


	17. Yuhua Shi

 

It took Phryne Fisher some moments, before she regained enough consciousness to realise that there was a Jack-shaped hole in the middle of her parlour. The anger she had forgotten about, while she had stared breathlessly into the darkest pits of his very soul, returned as it became clear that he had run away, yet again. Then another thought cut through the fuzzy ball of words crowding her brain. The memory of his furiously stated wish to die for his crimes made her blood run cold. He wouldn't go and do 'justice' to himself, would he? Normally the answer to this would have been a very determined „no“, but her Inspector was spinning out of control and she had absolutely no idea what he was capable of. Cold fear gripped Phryne's heart and she found her feet running towards the door, before her brain had caught up. A wall of rain greeted Miss Fisher on the veranda, but that didn't stop her. Desperately, she stormed down into the street. There she stood, panting and turning; trying to focus her eyes in the pouring rain; searching the grey asphalt in vain for any glimpse of DI Robinson. Jack was gone.

 

X

 

Father Grogan was staring blindly at the pages of his Bible. It was a beautiful,  old piece, wrapped in brown leather and illustrated in  the finest of  colours. Right now he couldn 't see it's beauty, nor did he find the comfort he had been hoping for. He read the sentence again. “ We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him.” Of course, Father Grogan believed this from the depths of his heart. He knew that Rosalind Wentworth was resting with God, had found peace in him. It just didn't make  _him_ feel any less lonely or his heart any lighter. The silence in the presbytery was deafening. 

Truth be told, Father Grogan had never lived alone in his life. Miss Wentworth had in a way shared his path since that beautiful day in June 1899, when he had met her at a garden party back in Springvale, shortly after his ordination. The young soldier, the pretty woman had promised marriage to, had never returned from South Africa and three years later she had become his housekeeper, replacing the elderly Mrs. Freed, who'd preferred to spend her last years in the company of her grand children rather than trying to keep up with the domestic needs of a young and somewhat idealistic priest. By that time, Father Dominic Grogan was already well aware he was in love with the young, brunette housekeeper, with her weakness for floral dresses and pretty clutter. It had taken years for him to give in to the niggling suspicion that she might reciprocate his feelings and yes, there had been times when he had asked his Lord, just why he was dangling a carrot in front of his nose, that he could never reach  out to  without betraying all he believed in. But the Lord had never given him a clear answer and with the years going by it had become easier. She did share his life after all, didn't she? They were partners in everything they believed in and what more could he ask for? Now she was gone and all Father Grogan had left was an empty house and silence. Absent-mindedly he fished for for something and brought it to his mouth, just to realise that he despised the dark bitter-chocolate biscuits, Miss Wentworth had loved with a passion. He was just picking up the plate to toss them in the bin, when a key turning in the door let him look up. For the a split second his heart jumped, before he realised that people coming back from the dead was far less common in 1929 Australia than it was in the bible. Sister Ruth bustled into the kitchen, but stopped abruptly on noticing the priest staring at her. 

“My apologies, Father, I didn't realise you are at home. You didn't answer to my knocking.”

“I was absorbed in the bible, I'm afraid.” He answered stiffly.

She nodded at this, not commenting on the fact that he was still standing with a plate of biscuits in the middle of his kitchen, rather than sitting anywhere near his bible and instead put down a basket. The smell of food wafting through the house made his stomach turn.

“I just brought you some lunch, now that nobody is cooking for you anymore.” She said, making use of her usual poignant sensitivity.

“Thank you, Sister.”

Father Grogan managed to produce a stony smile and tipped the chocolate biscuits into the garbage, asking God for forgiveness about his wasteful ways. The other food would follow, as soon as the nun was gone.

 

X

 

Constable Collins looked up from his paperwork when his fianc èe stormed through the door of the Station.  She was completely drenched and flanked by Bert and Cec, who didn't look any better. 

„Hugh, why aren't you picking up the phone?” She panted. 

He thought about this.

“Because it isn't ringing right now?” He finally stated carefully, like talking to a crazy woman.

“Not now! When I rang you, about ten minutes ago!”

“I was on the phone Dottie, I'm sorry. An enquiry.” He got up, walking towards her and opening his arms, which she chose to ignore. Bert grinned in the background, glad for once that he had no sweetheart to fly off the handle at him for not being psychic.

“Is the Inspector here?” She asked, instead of hugging Hugh, which produced some thoughtful wrinkles across his face.

“No, he went for his break. Hours ago. I thought he is at Miss Fisher's house.” 

She turned on her  heels, before he could ask any questions of his own. 

“Dottie, what's going on? Dottie!” He yelled after her. But she was already out of earshot. 

 

X

 

Miss Fisher was thoroughly soaked by the time she parked her Hispano-Suiza. She hadn't bothered with the roof; it was not like she could get any wetter. The heavens were pouring water down as if they were trying to wash all sin from the earth. The steady sound drowned out the staccato of her heels on the stone, when she hurried around the  church . When she spotted him through the thick, grey curtains of water, she felt  her heart jump in relief . He sat on the steps with his back turned to her, the weight of the world on his shoulders – but he was alive. She approached quietly, like he was a wild animal that she might scare away  with sudden movement . On drawing closer she  noticed  the soaked cigarette he was holding in his hand. Smoking was one of the things, she had discovered, he only did when he was in emotional uproar. So today was really the perfect time. Of course she would have rather liked to see his attempts to light it in the middle of the flood that was currently coming down around them. Miss Fisher remembered the seriousness of her quest and slipped silently onto the stairs beside him. If he had noticed her, he didn't show it. Rain was pounding on their heads in an ever steady rhythm. 

“Was it the closet-Catholic in you that brought you here then or the Inspector?” She asked casually, after a long moment of silence. His ever-working fingers broke the cigarette in half, before he answered.

“I wanted to have a look at the ruby. But the doors are locked.”

“You know, normal people don't go investigating when they suffer an emotional break-down.” She pointed out.

“It's the only thing I'm good at, Miss Fisher.”

She thought of last night and considered telling him otherwise. But this wasn't the time. So she stayed silent. Truth be told, she hadn't thought any further than finding him, making sure he was alright. Now she had found him, and he wasn't alright at all. The rain thudded on.

“I almost shot him, you know.” She finally said. “René. I wanted him dead. My finger was twitching on the trigger.” 

“But you didn't.”

“No...” She trailed off. “...I could hear you breathing.”

Now he finally tore his eyes from the stone steps to glance over at her.

“I realised that you cared and that that mattered. More than whatever hatred I had for Dubois. So I didn't.” 

Rain filled the silence that followed. Phryne was starting to shiver when he finally talked again.

“It was the morning of January 18th , I remember that exactly.” 

She didn't ask what had been, just waited, while he dug into painful memories.

“We've had a rough night. It was freezing cold and I was dragging one of my wounded comrades off the field, when that kid appeared in front of us. Must have been about Patrick's age.” 

Miss Fisher shivered harder. She could imagine what was coming now, but she stayed silent. Let him tell his story. He had closed his eyes, staring back into January 18 th . 

“He didn't look old enough to find the trigger.” The Inspector said quietly. “But we had lost 15 men that night, I wasn't going to let him have two more.” He lifted his hand, looked at his palm in a gesture that she knew by now. “So I pulled my pistol and shot him. Point-blank.”

Rain dripped off his fingers, as he stared at them.

“I washed his blood off myself for a week. It was everywhere.”

Phryne nodded slowly as his hand sunk beside him onto the steps again. She had nothing to say  - there were things that you  just  couldn't talk away. But after  some time longer  with the rain pouring down onto them, she reached out her fingers and w eaved them through his.


	18. Black Diamond

 

Mr. Butler didn't ask any questions, when in front of the door he had opened, upon urgent rapping, stood his Mistress and the Inspector, both looking like they had done a tumble into the Yarra with their fingers firmly entwined. He let them inside, quietly offered his help that was equally quietly, if gratefully, denied and scurried off into the kitchen to put the kettle on for some cacao, while Miss Fisher pulled her lover upstairs without letting go of his hand for a second.

Ten minutes later the bathtub was filled with steaming hot water, smelling vaguely of vanilla and Phryne started to unbutton Jack's clothes that still stuck soaking wet to his skin – a motion that usually would have made him tremble in anticipation, but currently he felt too drained for such exercise. When she was satisfied with his state of undress, she slid out of her own clothes, letting them fall carelessly to the floor, and again took his hand to pull him after herself into the tub. It was only when the hot water with Phryne's arms encircled him, that Inspector Robinson felt the numbness seep out of his cold, shaky muscles. He leaned back against her shoulder, letting his eyes fall shut and readily accepted her sponging down his chest, while she brushed her lips over his ear, the only spot she could currently reach with them. Jack wasn't entirely sure, if he was dreaming, but if he was, he would make damned sure to never wake up again.

It hadn't surprised him all that much when she had shown up in the pouring rain, in a place where he personally would have never looked for himself. She was after all stubborn and clever. But nevertheless, it felt unreal. Today she had thoroughly shaken his beliefs - mostly the one that had caused his marriage with Rosie to crumble. The absolutely certain knowledge that, if any human being would ever take a look into his soul and see who he really was, who he had been during the War, they would run screaming. Today she had torn down his last wall, he had laid down his weapons in surrender – if not completely voluntarily and waited for the big blow up. And it hadn't come. That part astounded him beyond measure.

He was shaken out of his reverie by her legs being wrapped around his. Strangely this didn't feel sexual, even though he was very aware, that he was touching every centimeter of her soft skin with his own in a position that was more twisted than most of the pictures in her book on the Eastern Art of Love. He had indeed found the immoral part of her library some time ago and had been a devoted study. But this wasn't about sex or erotic at all - it was, he discovered with a start, about intimacy. Phryne wanted to be close to him, feel him, comfort him. It almost broke his heart with relief.

Jack turned his head to find her mouth with his and when they deepened their kiss, her soapy arms wrapping around him, he'd almost forgotten that this was not an erotic tale. But then Mr. Butler came, bringing the cacao, with a faint smile to his lips as he discovered just what he had interrupted and taking his time to discreetly disturb them. When he had finally bustled away, the bathwater had started to cool off, and Jack decided that he had had quite enough water for one day. After he had dried himself, he fished for his pyjamas, but found that Phryne had already slipped into the bed, stretching a longing hand out for him. The Inspector understood and climbed under the covers to join her, pulling her close, warm skin against warm skin. They hadn't spoken a word in more than two hours and there were none necessary. They lay together, grey afternoon light filtering through the curtains, the rain still beating a hypnotising rhythm against the window. Her fingertips trailed a lazy line along his arm. When she reached his hand, she stilled and for the split of a second he wondered if she was really alright with this or if the big blow-up was just delayed. Then she took his hand, the one covered in the blood of dozens of men, that had pulled triggers and held knives and with her own lead it to her lips, not tearing her eyes from his. When she kissed his palm, Jack wanted to weep. Instead he stared on in fascination, as she slowly, thoroughly brushed kiss after kiss on every millimeter of his hand, traced her lips over his fingertips, his knuckles, his thumb, caressed every mark and every line. Then she moved on to his wrist, brushed her lips over the shrapnel scar and the faint burn marks from the ropes when he had been kidnapped.

Phryne probably saw the questions in his eyes, because she took the moment to close his mouth with a kiss. He decided that it didn't really matter at all, running his fingers through her silky hair and pulling her down on top of himself, while he savoured her taste. When she released him, her eyes were sparkling in the soft light of the fire and the rainy afternoon and Jack had to tell himself once again that she was actually his. It was still hard to believe that he might be so lucky. And while he wasn't sure if and how he deserved it, he was not going to waste another minute. Coincidently she seemed to have come to the same conclusion and pulled him into another kiss, rolling him onto his side to pull him even closer. Her soft hands felt for every muscle in his back, as she held onto him, leaving his skin tingling. His rougher fingers had found her thigh and decided to wrap it around himself again, this time very much in a sexual way. She moaned as he brushed against her, both their bodies now rapidly responding to their nearness. But Jack didn't want to rush this, he had every intention to savour it, take delight in the sounds she made, relish the touch of her skin and the warmth of her arms, revel in the way she looked when he managed to make her shiver. And even though it took all his strength to not just throw all of that to the wind when she brushed her fingertips over the most sensitive part of his body, he stuck to his intentions and actually made love to her in every way he could think of.

 

X

 

The fire had burned down, throwing lazy shadows onto the floor, by the time they were finally sated. Jack Robinson was lying on his back, his muscles too heavy to even stir, his lover had found herself a pillow on his chest, with his arm wrapped around her and a sweaty strain of her black hair stuck to her forehead. He reached out a finger to brush it away, while she traced a fingertip over a rather current scar on the left side of his stomach, a barely healed shot wound from the last autumn, when he had accidentally stumbled over the biggest secret of a gangster boss.

“Do you really want to know?” She asked, her voice sounding strangely loud after all the time they hadn't heard more than the occasional moan from each other.

“What is that, Miss Fisher?” The Inspector asked, his voice sounding raspy from lack of usage – and certain other things that he currently was trying to not think too hard about. A man had to know his limits.

“Why I like your scars.”

She found his gaze, his eyes still dark and intense. He gave a tiny nod of encouragement.

“Because they are your journey etched onto your skin.” She thought for a moment, before continuing. “Being a good man is easily accomplished, while life treats you well.”

As she said that, her fingers found a hardly noticeable cut underneath his brow from a bottle that some drunkard had smashed over his head, some years ago. Jack's eyes fluttered shut. “But Diamonds are forged under pressure. Your scars are the prove that you've been through the fire and the storms and came out on the other side.”

Slowly he opened his lashes. Took her hand from the endless caress of his scars and lay it onto his chest, where his heart was pounding against his ribs, covering it with his own.

“Diamonds are supposed to sparkle, Phryne. I fear, there is too much darkness in my soul.” He whispered, trying to joke, but failing miserably.

“A black diamond then. Even rarer and more precious.”

She smiled and pressed a kiss to his lips. When she pulled back, she realised that he was crying. She made no attempt to stop him. Those tears had been coming on a long time and he had earned the right to shed them. So she just held him, till the fire died and the daylight vanished.


	19. Citrine

“Have they worked it out then?” Dottie asked, stirring her cacao. The maid was sitting at the kitchen table, tightly wrapped up in her dressing gown and hoping to god that she wouldn't get a cold three days before her wedding.

“Well, he hasn't left her bedroom in several hours. I think it is fair to say they have.” Mr. Butler answered calmly, while he kept washing dishes. Grumpily Dot lifted the cup to her lips and promptly burned her tongue. In company of the cabbies she had spent several hours today trying to find the Inspector all across Melbourne, instead of meeting Mrs. Widley about the flowers for Saturday. And of course, Miss Fisher had found him in the end. Dorothy had never really had any doubts that she would. But the panic in her Mistress' behaviour wasn't really something she could well have ignored. The Honourable Miss Fisher didn't panic, unless things went very, very nasty. And while Dot had no idea what had happened between her and Detective-Inspector Robinson, it must have been bad. Even more perplexing was how they could have just worked it out like that. While she pondered this, her nose started to tickle and with a very unladylike “achoo” at the volume of a passing train, she sneezed into a lacy handkerchief.

“Bless you, Dorothy. Not having gotten yourself a cold today, have you?”

Mr. Butler finally turned around, wiping his hands on a towel and looked at her in honest concern.

When Dot answered, she thought she heard her voice starting to sound raspy.

“I rather hope not. Nothing like walking down the aisle with a fever and a runny nose.”

She dabbed said nose tenderly with the formerly spotlessly white fabric and cursed Detective-Inspector Robinson's inconvenient timing.

“Oh, I might have just the thing for you.” The servant said with a cheeky smile and vanished in the pantry, only to return seconds later with a pile of mysterious ingredients.

In astonishment, Dot watched on, as he mixed a cocktail together that would have made a shaman in the deepest depths of Africa a proud man and pushed it in front of her. Carefully she leaned over it. It smelled faintly of flowers. She didn't remember any going into the glass.

“What is it?” She finally asked, unsure if she wanted to know the answer.

“An old recipe from my grandmother.”

Mr. Butler's smile could have sold a moth-eaten Persian to the King at this stage. “It tastes rather dreadful I fear, but cures every cold completely overnight.”

Tentatively, Dorothy picked the pinkish milky drink up and took a sip. It wasn't completely terrible – if you liked this kinda experiment where you weren't sure what exactly you ingested or what it would do to your stomach lining. Dorothy Williams wasn't by nature that curious. But then again, a cold on her wedding day wasn't that tempting either. She squeezes her eyes shut and tried to pour the mix past her taste buds as fast as possible. Mr. Butler's healing potion chose the opportunity to go down the wrong way and the servant had to clap a coughing and spluttering Dorothy onto the back, till she had calmed down.

“Are you alright?”

She took a deep breath, before she answered.

“Thank you, Mr. Butler, but I think I'll just have some hot lemon before bed.”

He didn't get to answer, as a dark figure appeared at the kitchen door, asking for entrance with a frantic knock that was rather unusual for the person standing in front of it.

“Hugh? What are you doing here?”

A dripping wet Hugh Collins, still in uniform, stepped into the kitchen, leaving a trail of water behind. Dot bit her lip to not start yelling at him for making a mess on the floor. He already looked rather annoyed.

“My shift just ended and I need to talk to you, Dottie.”

There was a seriousness to his voice that made Mr. Butler excuse himself before anyone could ask him to.

“What is it, Hugh? I'm pretty tired. I had a hard day.” Dorothy explained grumpily, as soon as they were alone. She didn't appreciate being ambushed in her kitchen in the evening by people with the intention to have serious chats with her. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at her.

“That's why I am here. You had a rough day, Dottie, because Inspector Robinson had gone missing and you didn't tell me.”

“I tried, you didn't pick up the phone.” She cut in sulkily.

“No, you didn't. You came to the station, asked some cryptic questions and then you left me standing there like an idiot.”

Dot wanted to say something and then stopped. He had a point.

“It's not just you and Miss Fisher anymore, Dottie. I could have sent people out to find him, if only you'd talked to me. That's what you do; you call the police for help when someone's missing. ”

Whatever resolve she had just reached, now Dorothy got angry.

“So you think I can't take care of things myself then?” She stated, her voice tense. 

The Constable was obviously shocked by this accusation..

“No, Dottie, that's not what I think at all. But I am to be your husband in a few days. And we should face obstacles together, that's what marriage is all about. And I care for the Inspector too, you know?”

His eyes were big and sincere and Miss Williams' anger deflated like a balloon left out in the sun. Hugh Collins was about to hear something he would remember for a long time of his married life – because it wouldn't be repeated very often.

“You are completely right, Hugh. I'm sorry.”

Gobsmacked he stared at his wife-to-be.

“You mean...you...I mean...?”

“I was rude and thoughtless and I should have talked to you.”

He swallowed, his eyes now the size of two dinner plates, when Dot stepped towards him, taking both his hands into hers and looking up at him with that smile that reminded him, just why he really, really wanted to marry her more than anything else in the world. He leaned down to kiss her, when a tickling in his nose brought him back to reality.

“Achoo.”

He was so busy apologising for his bad timing, that the Constable missed the mischief smirk on his fiancée's face. That would turn out to be a mistake.

“You know Hugh, I better call Mr. Butler. He's got the perfect cure for this.” She smiled.

 

X

 

 

Father Grogan was staring into the flames motionless. There was nothing else to do. Of course, he could have worked on his words for Sunday or on the ceremony for Dorothy William's wedding or he could have read in the bible. But, he feared to admit it, he was tired. Tired of reading the same words, that he had known by heart for years, tired of being the man everyone came to, tired of leading his thinning flock. And if he would have had enough strength for it right now, then he would have begged god's forgiveness for thinking this.

But he didn't. Instead he was currently wondering how many evenings he had sat in this very chair and riffled through the leaves of the holy book, with Miss Wentworth sitting over there in a similarly uncomfortable grey armchair, embroidering or knitting. And even though most nights they hadn't talked a great deal, the quiet rustle of her work and the faint smell of the lavender oil that she had always worn, had been an incredible comfort in this cold world. He wondered, if she had felt the same way or if she had hated their silence. Father Grogan rubbed his face, trying to find answers to questions he probably should have asked while he could still expect some form of reply. Thana had been good to her, he knew. Thana had been her remedy in a way that he himself had never seemed to be able to manage. He didn't miss the girl that much really, he had hardly known her and he still wasn't sure exactly what she had touched in his heart to give in to her begging. But she had been good to Miss Wentworth. And for that he would make sure that her funeral would be conducted with the utmost respect and that she would get a pretty grave on the north side of the cemetery, where the sun was shining and the birds sang in the trees. Where he would also bury Rosalind Wentworth. Father Grogan felt an odd wetness to his eyes, an experience he hadn't encounted for years. So he was sitting around here crying like a woman. What a stupid thing to do! He straightened his shoulders and tried to figure out how to deal with the anger suddenly boiling inside of him, when an unannounced visitor rudely interrupted his musing.

He heaved himself out of the chair, grumbling under his breath and shuffled his slippers-clad feet to the door to answer it. The kind face of the man standing in front of it somewhat softened the blow of his anger.

“Rafael?”

“May I come in? I know it's late, but I didn't want to delay my visit any longer.”

Father Grogan didn't answer, but stepped aside all the same. While he of course loved all children of God, he honestly didn't like too many people. But he didn't mind Father Rafael. He had known him for many years. While he himself had herded the Lords sheep in Melbourne, his younger Colleague had been around, found new sheep to add to the flock. In a way he envied him. But it was rather hard to dislike the priest with the bright green eyes, who had followed him into the sitting room.

“I don't mean to intrude, Benedict. But I thought, you might like some company in this dark hour.” To his surprise, Father Grogan found, that he was not completely opposed to that.

 

X

 

The first thing Jack Robinson became aware of upon waking up was, that Phryne was lying on top of him and that despite the slimness of her frame, she was really quite heavy. The second thing he noticed happened to be, that the phone was ringing and since it was pitch-black in the room, the reasons for that were rather limited.

“Phryne.” He whispered, nudging her gently. She murmured indistinguishable in her sleep and cuddled back against his shoulder, her hair tickling his neck. That would not do. Even though it was rather enjoyable. With tender force he removed her from his chest. Grumbling she slid onto the mattress, where he wrapped her into the covers, before stealing out of bed to get dressed. He was buttoning his shirt by the time a blurry-eyed Mr. Butler appeared in the door, yawning.

“Excuse me, Sir. The Station on the phone for you.”

“Thank you.” Jack whispered, sneaking out of the room on tip-toes with one last look at Phryne who had, without protest, gone back to sleep.

“Detective-Inspector Robinson speaking.”

He listened quietly to Constable Jones' excited voice. With the promise to come as soon as possible, he hung up and stood, deep in thought.

“What happened?” A voice asked in the darkness, causing his head to fly up. Miss Fisher appeared, wide awake and already dressed on the landing of the stairs. Jack Robinson didn't even try to comprehend how she had gotten there. The situation was grave enough.

“It looks like our killer paid another visit to the presbytery.”


	20. Crystal

 

“Where is he?” Asked Detective-Inspector Robinson the first policeman he came across and was directed up the creaky stairs that called back quite recent and rather gruesome memories. Phryne seemed to have the exact same thoughts, as she stepped carefully over the spot where just two days ago Miss Wentworth had broken her neck falling. In the upper floor they were greeted by a carpet of glittering glass, strewn all over the wooden floorboards. The shards thickened like a spider web towards a place near the door to Miss Wentworth's bedroom. In the middle of the chaos, looking quite shaken, stood a stone-faced priest. When his eyes fell on Miss Fisher, his mimic turned even more rigid, if that was at all possible. She put on her sweetest smile.

“Good morning, Father Grogan.”

“There is nothing good about this morning, Miss Fisher. And I do not wish to know what in heaven's name has brought you here in the middle of the night. Even though I do have my suspicions.”

His menacing glance caught the Inspector and made quite clear, that he had more than a fair idea that the Honourable Miss Fisher hadn't dropped by accidentally. Phryne cursed Dot's honesty. Father Grogan turning against Jack over his immoral lifestyle was really the last thing they needed in this case. A part of her was starting to wish she had stayed in bed. But then again, she was Miss Fisher.

“Your suspicions aside, Father, would you mind sharing with us what happened tonight?” Jack pushed in, before she could make any cutting remarks of her own.

“Well I awoke from the sound of glass shattering, came running out here as fast as I could and I just saw a shadow race down the stairs, after pushing past me rather roughly. And then Father Rafael was lying there.” He pointed down the corridor to the centre of the spider web.

“Please don't think me intrusive, but why was he even here in the dead of the night?” The Inspector asked, pulling a black notebook out of his pocket.

“He happened to drop by last night and we sat late, discussing. So I offered him the guest accommodations for the night.” The priest explained stiffly.

The Inspector nodded, writing.

“So what happened then?”

“Then I called the police.”

The Inspector looked up.

“You didn't find out if he was alright first?”

“Of course I did, Inspector! Whatever do you think of me? He came to just a minute later and was quite confused, but could get up. So I brought him back to bed and then called the police and Dr. Brown.”

“Alright, Father. Did you recognise the man that ran past you? Can you give any description at all?”

Father Grogan's mouth twitched in annoyance.

“As I already stated, he was hardly more than a shadow. So no, I cannot give you anymore information than that.”

“Thank you.”

Detective-Inspector Robinson shoved the notebook back into his pocket and looked around for any traces of Miss Fisher. He found her sitting by the bedside of Father Rafael, whose head was wrapped in bandaging. A man who looked rather too young to be a doctor, was currently fishing a bottle of pills out of his bag. “Take two of these now, that should help with the headache. You really were quite lucky, Father.”

A painful grimace that was probably supposed to be a smile, answered that.

“As far as you can call a crystal vase to the head lucky, Doctor.”

The doctor adjusted his glasses before answering.

“That of course is very true, but the cuts are small and the concussion should pass with a few days rest. And, Father if you don't mind me saying, one of those cuts was very close to the major arteries in your neck. This could have ended very badly.”

“I shall send an extra prayer to my guardian angel tonight then.” The priest replied as the doctor left, tipping his hat to the Inspector.

“That was a rather silly thing of you to do. Getting yourself beaten over the head.” Phryne smiled at Father Rafael.

“Trust me, Miss Fisher, I will try my hardest not to do it again.” The priest half grinned, half groaned, sinking back into the pillows. Only then did he notice the policeman who had been standing in the door for some time.

“Ahh, Inspector. You have come to find out if I have been murdered, I assume? I fear, I have to disappoint you, I am quite alive.”

“I'm glad to hear it.” The Inspector stated dryly. “Now, Father, can you tell me what happened?”

After a moments thought, the priest told him the details on how he had ended sleeping in the guest room after running late on his visit and how he had heard a suspicious noise coming from Miss Wentworth's room.

“Of course I was too curious to stay in bed after that. And a lot of good my inquisitiveness did me.” The priest smirked, rubbing his throbbing head. On an urgent look from Jack, Phryne rose and followed the Inspector out into the hall.

“You don't actually think...?” He whispered, leaving the sentence hanging in the air.

“That it was Patrick Blanchfield?” She asked. “Well there is a similar pattern. Then again, I can't imagine him sending Miss Wentworth love poems.”

“Unless he lied about the reason for his break in? It's not impossible that he wasn't after the letter at all. He did grab the book as well.”

“You mean Patrick might be our murderer? Trying to destroy evidence?”

The Inspector pulled his face into a painful grimace.

“But he was in hospital, when Miss Wentworth died.”

“And as far as our evidence goes, she still only slipped on the wet stairs.”

The Detective-Inspector sighed at this.

“Did Father Rafael recognise his attacker at all?”

“No, nothing, just a dark shadow swinging a massive glass vase. And then he passed out.”

The policeman leaned against the cool wall, trying to think. Miss Fisher watched the wheels in his head turn, reveling in the fact that, despite being woken in the middle of the night and the gravity of the situation that had called him from his bed, his face showed some colour again.

“Either way, the murderer seems to think that there is something in Miss Wentworth's room that can lead us to him.”

“So you better get some people to collect the evidence.” Miss Fisher stated calmly, looking at the door that currently hid the mountains of floral and crystal clutter from her eyes. “God help them.”

 

X

 

Two hours later Detective-Inspector Robinson sat behind his desk, still tired, but with his heart as light as a balloon. At some point in the last days events one of the rocks that had been pressing down on it for the last decade had decided to roll away and leave only some pebbles behind. It was an amazing feeling. Of course, there were others. The ecstasy he felt would pass, he knew, but that was not something he currently needed to think about.

He had gone home for a shave and some breakfast - and a sweet, breathtaking kiss that had required all his resistance to not pick up where they had left off last night. Going back to bed had been rather tempting, not only for Phryne's company - but the good policeman in him reminded him, that there was still a killer running around freely and his little meltdown had cost them a day of investigation. Thank God that Father Rafael had survived the attack or he would have blamed himself for his demise, having fallen behind due to his personal issues. Then again, of course he could have still blamed himself for the wounds the man had suffered, but the Inspector chose not to. There was a beautiful morning outside, washed by the rain, the sun glittering on the last drops under a sky as blue as Phryne's eyes. He was not willing to start the circle all over again. Instead he found himself whistling, as he riffled through his paperwork, which made him stop and reconsider to go overboard with the cheerfulness. He was, after all, still an officer of the law.

There was still not a lot of information, but the coroners report on Miss Wentworth had finally come through. Constable Collins interrupted him, however, before the Inspector got around to study it.

“Mr. Blanchfield, Sir.”

The Inspector rose, as the young man stepped tentatively through the door.

“Ahhh, Patrick, I think we should have another chat.”

 

X

 

He could not find the teabags! Father Grogan felt his temper flare. Where on earth could she have stored the teabags in a way that they were simply not locatable? Silly woman! He hadn't managed to get back to sleep and instead decided to do some breakfast for himself. And now he couldn't make tea, because Rosalind Wentworth had had a talent for hiding things from him. If he didn't think it sinful, Dominic Grogan would have sworn heartily right now.

Instead he kept cluttering through the cabinets with little regard to the noise possibly waking his house guest. That Father Rafael had been beaten over the head in the one night in his guest room was highly inconvenient. Now he was stuck not only trying to take care of himself, but also of his colleague. As if living alone wasn't enough of a challenge. Another cabinet door slammed shut louder than any swearwords could have been.

“You alright, Father?”

He hadn't heard her coming and felt like having a heart attack.

“Fine, fine.” He grumbled after a pause, staring at the young woman. “I can't find the sodding tea.”

Sister Magdalene smiled in a way that made him somehow feel that tad better and reached out past him, opening the one cabinet, he had not searched, revealing a square tin, clearly labelled with “tea” in Miss Wentworth's curly writing. Father Grogan took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead.

“Thank you, Sister.”

“Don't mention it. I heard of Father Rafael's accident and came to offer my help. I do have some time to spare this morning.”

“Not really an accident, having things broken on your head by an intruder.” The Priest said under his breath and missed the shadow passing the face of the young nun completely, as something else caught his attention. He crouched down beside the bin and picked the little body up by its tail. Sister Magdalene paled, as she looked on. Of Father Grogan's hand was swinging a dead mouse.

 


	21. Desert Rose

“I wasn't there last night! I swear by all the saints, I was in my own bed, asleep.”

Patrick Blanchfield had gone even paler than usual. Inspector Robinson was tempted to believe him, Daniel's words about his deep faith ringing in his ears. But then again, trusting people blindly was not in his nature nor in his job-description.

“So you didn't happen to remember something else you've forgotten of Thana's possessions? Maybe another letter? You must admit, there are some slight similarities between the use of a sherry bottle and crystal vase as a blunt weapon.” He pushed on. The kid looked about ready to crack. His lip quivered when he spoke and Jack felt more sympathy than he'd really wanted to.

“I know it was stupid breaking into Miss Fisher's house. And the bottle... I panicked when she entered the kitchen. I didn't want to hurt her and I would never do this again! Never!”

The Inspector was tempted to ask if he had panicked again last night, but refrained from doing so. There was no point. He sat down opposite of the young man and wondered what to do with him. Jack felt like he was constantly walking in circles in this case, nothing ever led him anywhere, there was just no answers to any of the questions. Patrick misinterpreted the stony face staring at him.

“There is something I should tell you.” He said quietly, almost a whisper. Jack leaned back in his seat, not uttering a syllable. He didn't need to, the kid seemed to feel a sudden urge to relief himself of any secrets.

“There was a man Thana was scared of. He was here, I've seen him before, lurking around in the shadows, I witnessed her panic. And he was in the school yesterday, Inspector. I am sure of it!”

 

X

 

Miss Fisher sighed theatrically. She really _wanted_ to be at the Station right now, trying to figure out where their killer had gone. What she _was_ doing, however, was wait on Mrs. Widley to discuss flowers. How very feminine!

Another sigh escaped the detective's throat, while she got up to pour herself a cup of tea. Of course it was lovely of Mrs. Widley to have found another appointment so quickly and Miss Fisher owed Dot for having stood the lady up yesterday to help search for Jack.

Thinking about the gone afternoon let a small, content smile sneak onto Phryne's red lips. When she had finally found the magic words, Jack's soul had opened up like a lotus flower and she had touched the petals in awe, careful not to bruise any of their beauty. If she hadn't been sure already that this was a man with a heart as deep as the Pacific Ocean, she would have been certain of it now. There were still new things to discover in its depths and she found she never tired of it. Jack Robinson was as it turned out, the greatest adventure she had ever been on.

Not that she hoped for any more icebergs in the near future. Seeing him this vulnerable had shaken her to the core, but at the same time there had been something oddly touching about it. He was not easily thrown of balance, not someone who wore his heart on his sleeve and the fact that in the end she had been the one allowed to look at what no one else was to see, was shocking and scary and precious all at once. Phryne knew in her heart of hearts that his resilience to share this deepest, darkest part of himself had cost him his marriage and she had the decency to feel a little bad about the fact that she reveled in their relationship having survived something that Jack's alliance with Rosie hadn't. At the same time she found herself wondering if that was the woman she was to be now - so jealous of a past union that she would happily wish pain on the man she loved. But no matter how guilty she felt, she could not get herself to wish that Jack had worked it out things with his wife. While of course last night had been about Jack, about soothing his wounds, melting his fears away, it had shifted something inside of herself as well. Somehow, along the way they had turned into two planets in a fragile field of gravity and the way she had felt like she was spinning out of control with him, she now had calmed down with him, too. As some of his wounds had closed last night, some of her own scars seemed to be less painful this morning. Strange, how you could get adapted to another human being, melt together in a strange unit, that might not be without bumps and rocks, but nevertheless strong.

“Miss Fisher?” She turned to see Mr. Butler stare at her.

“I'm sorry, I was miles away.”

She tried a thin smile. The Butler's smirk was more knowing than it had any right to be.

“Mrs. Widley is waiting in the Parlour, Miss.”   
“Thank you, could you please bring us some tea?”

The Butler answered and withdrew, leaving Miss Fisher to her thoughts. She ran her fingers through her hair once more, shaking it into place and braced herself for a lengthy discussion about the advantages of roses over lilies.

 

X

 

Constable Collins was on the phone when Father Grogan stormed through the Station door with something that looked – and smelled – like a kitchen bin. He rang the bell with little regard for the policeman's sanity, till he had gently gotten rid off the old lady on the line.

When the Constable finally gave him his full attention, he shoved the bin into his arms without much ceremony.

“You need to test the biscuits.” He panted, his head turning purple from excitement in a way that caused in Hugh the urge to call a doctor, just in case the priest would have a heart attack at his counter.

The Constable looked into the container, where, underneath a gloppy lump of smelly stew was a mountain of dark chocolate-biscuits and tentatively, picked one up that had a piece of carrot sticking to it.

“They were poisoned.” Father Grogan went on, prompting the disgusted looking Hugh to drop the biscuit as if something had bitten him.

“Collins, we are heading over to...” Detective-Inspector Robinson stopped in the middle of door and sentence, when he spotted their visitor.

“Father Grogan!”

“Inspector. Your sidekick here is unwilling to test these biscuits. I'm sure, they were poisoned.”

He tried to grab the evidence from Hugh's unresisting arms and hand them over to Inspector Robinson, but the higher-ranking policeman waved him off. 

“Collins, get those biscuits tested and while your at it, the rest of the food in there, too. Father, please come through to my office, we need to talk.”

The priest followed, obviously slightly deflated by the ease with which he had convinced the Detective-Inspector and sat down at the edge of the chair opposite the policeman's desk.

“So, Father Grogan, what makes you believe that there was poison in those biscuits?”

“This!”

The priest pulled the rigid little body of a dead mouse out of his pocket and laid it onto the Detectives desk. Jack swallowed but kept his calm.

“It died right beside my kitchen bin and I didn't ever kill mice in the house, it upset Miss Wentworth.”

Jack nodded slowly, then he reached out and shoved the mouse corpse gently back to it's owner.

“I believe you can put that away, Father Grogan. I just had a read of the Coroner's report. Miss Wentworth was poisoned.”


	22. Lavender Jasper

Chapter 22: Lavender Jasper 

 

Silence answered the Inspector. It stretched, turned, twisted. Little drops of sweat were forming on the priests forehead, while the policeman watched on.

“So someone actually did murder her.”

It wasn't a question. While Father Grogan had been completely convinced that Miss Wentworth had been poisoned a minute ago, the actual realisation was something completely different. Detective-Inspector Robinson shifted on his chair and gave this time to sink in. Suddenly the face flew up, anger written across it in capital letters.

“So why haven't you found him yet?”

The Inspector blinked slowly.

“Because murderer's tend to be rather hard to catch, Father. They don't appreciate it.” He stated dryly.

“But it is your job, isn't it?!”

“Yes, it is. And I will. But first I need you to tell me where those biscuits are from and what makes you so sure that the poison was hidden in them and not in the milk or bread.”

Father Grogan seemed to consider flying off the handle some more, then settled back into his seat, obviously having come to the conclusion, now was not the time.

“Miss Wentworth loved those disgusting biscuits, that was common knowledge. And nobody else would touch them, so the perfect way for a perfect murder.” He spat.

Jack took his time to shuffle the paperwork around. A cold, cutting thought appeared in his brain, uninvited. The day when Miss Wentworth had died, there had been six people around that table holding the biscuits he clearly recognised. Including Miss Williams, Constable Collins and Phryne. If either of them would have felt a tad peckish, he could be investigating their murder now. Jack Robinson didn't like killers to start with, but he hated thoughtless murderers, who ran the risk of killing more than one victim out of laziness. He felt the priest's radiating anger spread like wildfire to his own stomach. Barely holding on to his calm exterior, he leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk.  
“Listen, Father. I need you to tell me every little detail about those biscuits. Who bakes them, who delivers them, when were they brought and who was in your house afterwards. He is not getting away with this!”

There was a sudden sparkle in the policeman's eyes that caught Father Grogan somewhat off guard. He swallowed down the angry words that had lurked in his throat and started talking.

 

X

 

Dot sat, her eyes scrunched up in thought as she pondered her choices. Her indecisiveness was, in all honestly, driving Miss Fisher up the walls. Were all brides this complicated? She was starting to think they were, as Mrs. Widley didn't seem bothered at all by the lack of sober thought she had encountered in the last hour and a half.

“I like the white roses, but not lilies. No, they remind me of funerals, Ma'am.”

Well that was at least some decision.

“Or yellow? Yellow would be more cheerful. But white would fit my dress. What do you think, Miss?”

Phryne thought, that she had the strong urge to flee and do something she was better suited to. While she loved beautiful things, there was only so much discussion about the symbolic meaning of carnations and asters, that she could take.

“You might like this shade of pink, Miss.” Mrs. Widley prompted, picking up another flower from the spread on the table.

“It is beautiful. Isn't it, Miss? But is pink suitable for a church wedding? Do you think Hugh would like it?” The young bride chewed thoughtfully on her lip, waking in her Mistress the urge to beat her over the head with the big vase holding a variation of summer flowers. She wondered if the intruder to the presbytery had felt that way last night?

A knock at the door kept her murderous spell in check. Gratefully, she jumped to her feet and excused herself to answer. Even if it turned out to be just someone who had lost their way it would provide her with some escape. The person she opened the door to, hadn't lost his way in the slightest.

“Jack?!”

Her heart fluttered in her chest like a caught butterfly, when she saw the gentle smile that lit his face in place of a greeting.

“I am not interrupting anything, am I?” With playful curiosity he snuck a look around the corner.

“Did you know you can torture someone with flowers?” Phryne whispered, only half joking.

“Well there is a thought I should return to at a more convenient hour.” He whispered back, giving her a meaningful look that almost, but not quite, caused her cheeks to flush.

“I will remind you.” She promised. “However, I assume you have not come to make me erotic promises, so what leads you here, Inspector?” She asked under half-closed lashes.

“We have another murder.” He brushed over the shock displayed on her face quickly. “Miss Wentworth was poisoned. Strychnine. And I wondered if you would like to join me for a trip to the school to confront the unfortunate baker of the biscuits in question.”

Phryne threw a quick look at Dot, who seemed to be considering replacing her choice of roses, made about half an hour ago with carnations after all.

“Let me grab my hat.”

The Inspector couldn't help but give in to a grin. It got wider, when he watched Miss Fisher sweep back into her parlor. “I'm so sorry, Dot, but there has been a development I simply can't ignore.” She kissed her maid on the head.

“Thank you for your time Mrs. Widley, it was most gracious of you to find an appointment for us so quickly. Oh, and we will be taking the pink roses and lavender.”

With that she brushed out the door, grabbing Jack's hand. They almost ran to the waiting police-car laughing, like children, temporarily forgetting the gravity of their mission.

Back in the living room, two women looked after the departing lady of the house in stunned silence. “Pink roses and lavender?” Dot finally said slowly.

“Actually, I think that would look and smell delightful, Miss Williams.”

Mrs. Widley smiled like a woman who had finally found an anchor in a stormy sea and breathed a sigh of relief, when she got a tentative nod in return.

 

X

 

By the time they left St. Kilda, Miss Fisher knew everything about Father Grogan's dustbin.

“A low dose of Strychnine, probably not enough to kill her by itself, but enough to let her lose her step on the wet stairs.” Jack explained. “And her employer is absolutely convinced, that the poison is to be found in those biscuits. We are testing them right now.”

“Wouldn't she have tasted that? Strychnine isn't overly pleasant – or so I'm told.”

He smirked at her quickly, before returning his attention back to the road.

“You know, Miss Fisher, that it wouldn't really surprise me if you tested that theory for yourself, just to see what happens?”

“Your deep faith in my unshakable sense of adventure is honourable, Inspector, but I seem to be rather firmly attached to my life.”

And so she was. It was with some curiosity that Miss Fisher noticed, that she was in fact more attached to her life now, than she had been in the past. While ever since the war she had endeavoured to enjoy life to the fullest, to take every day like a sip of good wine and don't worry about the hangover that was sure to come eventually, she realised now in retrospect that she had been dancing on the volcano for a long time. And that it had been somewhat lucky that she'd never tumbled into the fire. What was worse – she wasn't at all sure, if she would have minded tumbling all that much. Her dance had been an expression of pain as much of a lust for life most of the time. While her feet twirled, there was no time for dark thoughts, for ghosts, for regrets. And now, for the first time in years, she found them stilling and to her amazement and wonder, there was solid rock underneath them rather than the sand she had expected. It had to do with the man who was currently chauffeuring her around town and bantering with an ease that was still peculiar to her. She watched his face from the side, wondering if she would ever tire of just looking at him.

“The biscuits were themselves rather bitter it seems. A special treat baked by Sister Magdalene for Miss Wentworth, every Tuesday. After an old recipe of her grandmother's apparently.”

Phryne had to shake herself awake. She had for a moment lost her train of thought.

“I assume the original recipe did not involve strychnine though?”

“I would hope not.”

The black car turned into Church Street, the presbytery showing in the far. It looked suspiciously peaceful today. There was the faint hope that they wouldn't stumble over any bodies today.

 


	23. Moss Agate

Chapter 23: Moss Agate

 

“My biscuits!?”

Sister Magdalene paled and reached for the edge of her desk to steady herself as she sank onto a chair.

“But... How on earth could they have poisoned her? I don't understand.”

Inspector Robinson made a point of fiddling with his note book for a moment before he answered, realising to his disappointment, that his unsettling strategy had gone completely unnoticed. The nun was staring blindly past him.

“We have reason to believe, that someone laced them with Strychnine, Miss Rivett.” He said. This time, he got a reaction. A pair of eyes shot up at him.

“Sister Magdalene, if you please, Inspector. I have left Sarah Rivett behind a long time ago.”

He nodded slowly. The tone of her voice betrayed the fact that she hadn't. So what did Sarah Rivett have to hide that was worth running this fast and this far? Was it enough to kill someone?

“Very well, Sister.” He sat down, aware, that Phryne was standing a bit further to the back, thinking loudly into his ear. He nodded slightly. Yes, he had noticed it, too.

“So what do you have to say about those biscuits?”

The nun wrung her hands for what seemed an eternity, pondering this.

“I've baked them every Tuesday for Miss Wentworth for years. She was a lovely lady and she adored them. My grandmother would have enjoyed her enthusiasm, I daresay she was watching on proudly.” A faint smile appeared on the Sisters face, fading quickly. “But that she should have been poisoned... We don't even use rat poison anywhere near the kitchen. Too dangerous, with all the children around.”

“We don't think it was an accident, Sister!”

Phryne's voice cut through the room like a knife. Sister Magdalene looked shocked, weather by the words or by the person uttering them, was hard to tell.

“You... you are not implying that I murdered Miss Wentworth?” She said, after a pause, her voice shaking. Silence was her only answer.

“Why on earth would I want her dead? I liked her!”

The Inspector leaned back in his chair, watching her quietly.

“You tell me, Sister. The poison ended up in your lovingly baked biscuits it appears. So how did it get there, if you haven't added it?”

“I... I don't know. But anyone could have been on the dough. I always prepared it Monday night down here in the school kitchen and then let it rest to bake in the morning. Anyone who would have walked in there....” She trailed off. The detectives looked at each other, then Jack cleared his throat and rose. When he got to the door, he heard a small voice behind him call out: “Inspector?” He turned and looked at the nun, who stared back at him with sincerity in her eyes. “I have not murdered Miss Wentworth. You have to believe me!”

He nodded and closed the door behind himself without another word.

 

X

 

“It wasn't her.” Phryne stated, as soon as they sat in the car. “But she is hiding something.”

Detective-Inspector Robinson was tempted to ask her how she had come to that conclusion but realised there was no point to it. So he simply agreed.

“So what now?” Miss Fisher asked.

“I may have gotten some useful information from Sister Martha. Our Miss Rivett will finish her day at school in exactly...” He checked his watch, “...two hours. That should give us enough time to head back to the station to find out if Father Grogan was right about the murder weapon and then come back here to see, what Sister Magdalene is doing after hours.”

Before Miss Fisher could find an answer to this, he had thrown the car into gear and taken off with uncharacteristic urgency. The streets flews past at a speed that was very close to breaking the legal limit and Phryne found, she was feeling remarkably free for someone so tied down. She reached out a hand and lay it on his thigh, a motion he didn't seem particularly opposed to, as he threw her a tiny smirk. The trip was over far too quickly and she felt the loss, when she had to let go of his trouser-clad leg and the warmth seeping through the fabric.

The City South Police Station was buzzing as they stepped through the door, nobody taking too much notice of them. Hugh, who was just speaking on the phone or rather trying to get a word in edgewise, as he _was spoken to_ on the phone, nodded at the Inspector and stretched out his hand, holding a file. The Inspector took it with a small expression of thanks and shuffled Phryne into his office, closing the door behind them. The silence that followed was heavenly.

“I would offer you a chair, but you are quite capable of taking whatever you want, as I have discovered some time ago.” He joked, as he slipped behind the desk. Indeed, she was sitting already, before he looked up.

“Not everything.” Miss Fisher answered, cocking her head. “Some things I ask for first.” The slow dip of her lashes accompanying this, made it necessary for Jack to clear his throat. What a silly idea it was to give her such an opening to throw him off balance. He stared on the page lying in front of him and tried very hard to get his thoughts back onto the case.

“So, what does it say?” An impatient voice interrupted him after mere seconds.

“Our Father was on the right track. The biscuits were laced with poison. A mixture of them in fact: Strychnine and Brucine.”

Miss Fisher looked up from chewing her lip.

“I seem to remember dimly, that there is some trees that produce both.”

Jack ignored her and read on.

“They found parts of ground up plant residue, from a fruit called...” He trailed off. “...strychnos ignatia.”

Phryne only thought for a moment, before she blurted out: “The 'St. Ignatius Bean'!”

A cold sensation ran down her spine as she locked eyes with Jack. The pictures were back, of Inca priests holding bleeding human hearts to the sky in hope for the mildness of their gods. Had someone killed the two women in a religious craze? Jack seemed to think along the same lines.

“We might have a ritual killer on our hands, Miss Fisher.”

The lady detective attempted a vague smile.

“Either that or a murderer with an incredibly twisted sense of humour.”

 

 

X

 

Phryne Fisher still felt quite shaken, when they returned to the small side street passing St. Ignatius an hour and a half later. Staring at the impressive bluestone walls, she wondered if this could really be the backdrop to such a gruesome event. She had never heard of a Christian ritual murder before, but in her experience there was little that a twisted human mind could not come up with. She shuddered, despite the heat of the afternoon. Jack's hand snuck over and grabbed hers, without the Inspector tearing his eyes from the front of the school building. Miss Fisher only vaguely wondered, how on earth he could have sensed her distress. She had stopped being overly surprised at his abilities to always find the right words, the right touch, some time ago. She took joy in the discovery that she seemed to improve as well. The dark shadows that had followed him around for the last few days had disappeared and while this astonished her somewhat, she did not wish them back for the world. Could it be that he had found the absolution he had sought for a decade from a talk in the rain and a kiss to his palm? It seemed too simple.

A light pressure around her own fingers brought her back to the present, where Jack was still staring at the red brick building. Some movement was happening. Sister Magdalene was taking her leave from an elderly nun, that she dimly remembered as Sister Anna and walked right in their direction, turning into The Vaucluse with quick step. Phryne slid down in her seat, holding her breath as the young woman walked past their motorcar. But the nun seemed to be in her own world right now, striding forward as if she intended to challenge someone to a duel. Jack Robinson waited, till she was almost at the corner, before he started the motor and slowly took after her. Sister Magdalene didn't seem particularly suspicious at this stage, but climbed a Tram to the South rather than heading back towards her convent. With some distance the pair of detectives drove after her, annoying other drivers with their leisurely progress. The pursuit turned out to be slow and long-drawn and Phryne found that, even though her heart was beating heavily against her ribs, she wished it to end. Sister Magdalene was not inclined to oblige her and waited for the last stop to climb off, sweeping her eyes along Toorak St as if looking for directions. She seemed to finally remember where she was heading, as she slipped into a side street so fast, that Jack almost lost her. Zigzagging through the streets of South Yarra, Sister Magdalene seemed all but set on shaking them off, even though she didn't look around a single time. Finally, she halted in front of a big mansion. Miss Fisher held her breath.

“That isn't quite the kind of company I expected.” Jack Robinson said quietly.

“I don't think it's the kind of company she is expecting either.” Phryne pointed out, already opening her door. Sister Magdalene had found a small gap in the iron fence and slipped through the hedges. Phryne rushed after her, while Jack swore under his breath, wondering where he could safely abandon the car. Following a small path trampled through the grass, Miss Fisher circled around the seemingly abandoned mansion, the nun's habit occasionally appearing in the distance between the bushes. Finally she spotted the red roof of a small cottage, ducked between old trees, probably once occupied by a gardener. Now the windows were barred. Phryne hid behind the stem of an oak and watched, as sister Magdalene knocked on the door. Her heart almost stopped, when she felt a hand on her shoulder, she spun, ready to give her attacker a kick to the privates and run for it, but found herself in close proximity to a very handsome police officer, who laid a soothing finger onto her lips.

“Just me.” Jack whispered. She relaxed. They turned their attention back to the cottage, where voices were growing louder. The old walls seemed to swallow every meaning, but there was an argument happening between Sister Magdalene and a very angry male.

“Could be our shadow-man.” Phryne pointed out quietly. “He definitely is hidden well here.”

“Strange company for a nun to keep.” Jack stated dryly.

A crash, interrupted by a hair-raising scream, rudely ended their musing.

 


	24. Topaz

Chapter 24: Topaz

 

His feet were running before the noise had time to reach his brain. Jack Robinson swore under his breath, when he stumbled over a root hidden in the high grass of the unkempt garden. He could hear Phryne panting right behind himself, as he flung the door open. The policeman blinked into the sudden darkness. That could have been a dangerous pause, if either of the two people in the room had noticed his appearance. But Sister Magdalene was currently too occupied fighting for her life, while a man about double her size squeezed her neck shut with big, strong hands. Groaning in panic she trashed around herself, bringing a small table with a variation of clutter down on herself and her attacker, while the Inspector took the three steps through the tiny room and grabbed the man by his filthy shirt, hauling him off the girl with some effort. While he knelt on the man's back, trying to struggle his arms into handcuffs, he watched, as Phryne flung herself beside the nun onto the floor, helping her to sit up. Sister Magdalene drew a raspy breath, looking like she was about to burst into tears. But there was also rage glittering in her eyes that was uncharacteristic in a women of her occupation.

“You bastard!” She yelled, holding her neck with a shaky hand. “You insane bastard! You killed Thana, didn't you? Because she wasn't gonna come back!? Because she was tired of you beating the crap out of her, you sick, twisted...” Whatever terrible things she had wanted to call him, was drowned by a wave of sobs that suddenly shook Sister Magdalene's shoulders. Miss Fisher wrapped a soothing arm around the crying woman, while Jack watched the scene unfold as if through a sheet of glass. He had so many questions clouding his brain. How did she know the man? And why on earth hadn't she told them? But the writhing man underneath him reminded the Inspector, that there was no time for this right now. His curiosity had to wait. His eyes sought out Phryne's and for a tiny moment it was just them sharing strength. Then the Detective-Inspector hauled the man to his feet.

“I think we should have a little chat at the station, don't you?”

The man snarled at him but didn't say a word, while he was marched out to the car, followed by the two women.

 

X

 

Phryne noticed, that Sister Magdalene's hands were still trembling when she took the offered cup of tea. She had convinced Jack that she was better suited to talk to the shaken woman in her own house, while he questioned their suspect at the station. It hadn't taken much. Jack had a very soft heart for women in distress and a very hard hand for the men that caused their troubles. And while he would never raise his fist to a shackled man, she had felt the urge radiating from him all the way to their home. Miss Fisher found, she loved him all the more for that.

Musing she stirred in her own cup, waiting for the nun to speak. After a few sips, she found her voice, that still sounded rough from the abuse.

“My father died a week after my tenth birthday.” She said in a tone very different from the nun's usually proud and friendly expression. Like the shock had let 15 years melt of her age, turning her back into a scared child. Miss Fisher nodded understanding.

“So Richard was the man in the house. Or at least that was his excuse when he raised his hands against mother. Or me. Or our little brother.”

The pieces fell into place in Phryne's head as she listened on.

“I warned her. I told Thana not to marry him. But she just laughed. She always laughed, when she didn't understand something.”

Sister Magdalene's eyes filled with tears again.

“He is a bloody charmer, Rich is. So she married him anyway. I think he waited all of three days into their honeymoon, before I heard her cry the first time.”

Miss Fisher sat her cup down without drinking.

“What did you do?”

Guilt flitted over the tear streaked face, as the nun dropped her eyes to the floor.

“I did nothing. I watched, and I listened, and I did nothing. She wouldn't leave him. I told her, I'd help her if she wanted to. Didn't make much money as a seamstress, but I had saved enough for a train ticket. One day she had a broken nose. I couldn't take it anymore. Made the mistake of yelling at him. He beat the life out of me that day.”

“You left?” Phryne asked quietly. A tentative nod was all the answer she got for a long time.

“Abandoned them all.”

It wasn't more than a whisper, but Miss Fisher's heart broke all the same for that woman who had been helplessly battling the tyrant in her own home for years. She remembered the feeling of angry powerlessness all too well. Her hand wrapped around Sarah's and squeezed gently.

“I felt safe here. I really did. Richard seemed to have completely forgotten about my existence. Mother wrote me occasionally; said she missed me. But no ten horses would have brought me back to Adelaide.”

Miss Fisher didn't blame her.

“And then Thana came here?” It wasn't really a question, but the lady detective was curious all the same.

“Must have been about two month ago. Just showed up, bruises everywhere. She told me, she had left him, but had nowhere to go.”

Sister Magdalene shrugged. “I am a nun, Miss Fisher, I couldn't sustain her, but she's a nice girl, hard worker too. So I sent her to Father Grogan. I know he's got a soft spot for the poor and the troubled. Big heart that man under the rough surface.”

“Rough surface indeed.” Phryne whispered under her breath. She couldn't help but be surprised. So far, she hadn't encountered anything but barely disguised hatred from the elderly priest, but no matter who she talked to, he seemed to be respected, almost loved by his own. Maybe there was some truth to her misjudging him?

Completely oblivious to Phryne's thoughts, Sister Magdalene went on.

“I thought she was safe, thought we were doing alright, the both of us. And then Richard appeared like a dark shadow. First saw him during Mass. You'd think he would crumble to dust when he sets foot into the Lord's house.” She attempted a wry smile that came out rather shaky but was shared by Miss Fisher nevertheless.

“It was almost as if he was playing us. Just showed his face here and there. Didn't approach either of us. And then Thana was found dead and I was furious. But he swore to me, that it wasn't his doing. Swore it on my bible. I think that was the only time ever that I actually saw him scared.”

“Why didn't you go to the police?” Miss Fisher asked, even though she could imagine the answer to this. A pair of red swollen eyes looked at her.

“I was frightened, Miss Fisher, truth be told. Of him and for him. If he killed Thana, he'll hang and he is my brother.”

She kneaded her hands. “So I wanted to believe him. And I had myself almost convinced till Miss Wentworth died. He came to me that day, pretty shaken.”

Phryne perked up at this.

“The idiot broke into the presbytery. Said, Thana still had something of his and he wanted it back. A watch or something. I'm pretty sure, Thana wouldn't have stolen anything from him. The price was too high to pay. However, he told me that afternoon that he had heard her fall.”

Silence followed this. Phryne picked up her cold tea and drained the cup in an effort to win time. So Richard Rivett had been at least a witness to Miss Wentworth's murder. Or something more...?

“And you believed him?” She questioned the girl. A furious shake with the head was the reply.

“No, I didn't. I thought he killed her. Would be like him, to push elderly ladies down the stairs.”

“But still you didn't say anything?”

“He threatened to kill me when I talked about police. Swore, he had done nothing but step over her dead body on his way out. He wanted money from me to disappear.”

“He really does sound like a charmer, your brother.” The lady detective stated dryly. “But today you still went to see him. Why?”

“I don't know if you'll understand, Miss Fisher, but: If he tipped that bloody strychnine into my biscuits, that's worse than pushing someone down the stairs. That is proper murder and an attempt to get me hanged on top of it.” Two angry eyes sought out hers, before the nun growled: “I'm done running, Miss Fisher. I'm done keeping my damn mouth shut. I'm done having a brother who is a monster!”

 

X

 

The monster was staring at Detective-Inspector Robinson with something very much resembling boredom in his eyes. Luckily, Jack had enough experience to be able to detect the dangerous rage underneath the thin layer of nonchalance.

“Let's try this again, shall we?” He said patiently, leaning back in his chair. “Did you or did you not murder your wife?”

“I already told ya several times, copper, I have no idea how she came to die. But it wasn't me, I can tell you that much. Wouldn't have touched her.”

“Oh I'm pretty sure you touched her plenty of times. Mostly with your fists.” The Inspector stated, his face rigid. He had difficulty now concealing the disgust he felt for the man in front of him. Jack Robinson also couldn't shake the feeling that he was wasting his time. There was no confession to be expected from this guy, he was too used to getting away with it. He only hoped that Phryne was more successful in squeezing information out of Sister Magdalene. With a sigh he got up.

“Collins, please show Mr. Rivett here our most comfortable cell. He is going to stay with us for a while.”

Under the man's furious protest the Detective-Inspector walked out, thankful, that he had had the presence of mind to have two Constables in there with him. Otherwise his exit would have been spoiled by trying to keep Hugh Collins unharmed from the wrath that was most likely coming down on him. Between them they would sort it out. With controlled steps he walked back to his office, greeting some officers on the way there, letting the door fall shut behind himself and leaned against the cool wood. His eyes closed involuntarily as he sucked some deep breath into in lungs, attempting to calm the raging anger in his guts.

“Not a good interrogation then?” A relaxed voice asked. Jack ripped his eyes open and breathed a sigh of relief at Miss Fisher sitting infront of his desk, in this moment casually disposing of her hat.

“Like bashing my head against a brick wall.” He admitted, rubbing his palm over his tired eyes.

“I can sympathise with that notion.” She pointed out, without missing a beat. So she had not quite forgotten his resistance to her own interrogation techniques then. Just as well. Her smile let him know that he was forgiven however and that was good enough. He sat down, folding his hands on the table.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Miss Fisher?”

She played with her gloves while replying.

“I had a hunch that your suspect might not be very cooperative.”

“So you came to gloat with the success of our own interrogation?”

Miss Fisher's red lips smiled at this.

“I do not gloat, Jack. I merely point out my advantages.”

“Of which there are many.” He smirked, realising that his irritation had slipped away unnoticed. God, how had he ever managed without her? As she told him in detail about all the things she had learned from her witness, half of his mind drifted off.

Jack remembered something. A thought that had come to him last night at about 3 am, when he couldn't sleep anymore but hadn't been willing to let go of Phryne, who had been cuddled into his side, snoring in a very ladylike manner. A thought brighter than the moon looking through the curtains and more forceful than the darkness. Quite irresistible in fact. So he had lain there in the dead of the night with a big grin on his face, twirling pictures through his mind. They had glittered and danced and he had felt like he was going drown in excitement.

“I don't seem to have your attention, Inspector.”

Jack wiped the involuntary grin of his face and said: “You just mentioned that Mr. Rivett made a death-threat to his sister if she should spill the beans.”

She stared at him searchingly for a moment and continued. There was some positive things he had learned in the war, one of which was to never drift off far enough to not be aware of his surroundings. That ability had saved his life on more occasions than he cared to remember. But nevertheless he decided to return his full attention to the lady-detective and her story. He could think about this later. And ignoring the Honourable Phryne Fisher usually didn't end well for a man.

 

 


	25. Malaya Garnet

Chapter 25: Malaya Garnet

 

When she had finished, Miss Fisher looked at the Inspector, trying to read his thoughts. The creases stretching across his forehead told her that he wasn't convinced. Sure enough, he picked up the folder on Miss Wentworth's death and rustling through it, as if to sort his thoughts.

“Something is not quite right here, is it?” Phryne stated into the silence.

He cleared his throat, without looking up.

“All the pieces fit.”

“Yes, but the picture still looks just a tiny bit off.”

The rustling of pages was the only sound to be heard for a while, while Detective-Inspector Robinson pondered.

“He's not smart enough.” He finally said, flicking the folder shut and folding his hands on top of it.

“Plunging a knife into his wives heart, pushing an old lady down the stairs? Those are crimes I definitely believe this man to be capable of.”

“But not mixing a deadly toxin into biscuit dough?”

Jack shook his head. The puzzle looked strange because the last two pieces didn't fit.

“I don't think we have our man. Even though I am more than happy to lock Mr. Rivett up till a judge has time to teach him some manners – or he rots in prison, whichever comes first.”

“Then we will just have to keep looking. I could do with a little time outside the house.” Phryne said in an upbeat voice, that was completely and utterly fake, as she reached for her hat.

“On that note I better get going home. I have left Sister Magdalene alone with Dot and I am not quite sure which of them is in a worse state at this point in time.”

“Miss Williams is still out of sorts then? Still in uproar about which flowers to chose?”

Phryne pushed herself out of her chair sighing.

“She has moved on to the guest list now and has found that 53 really is a quite unlucky number and therefore she shall lose her wedding ring or rip her dress unless we find another guest to add.”

The Inspector leaned back and raised his eyebrows.

“That would indeed be horrible.”

Miss Fisher's red lips curled into a hardly disguised smirk.

“You are not treating the situation with the appropriate seriousness, Inspector.”

“And I have every intention of continuing on that path.”

She stepped around his desk to kiss him goodbye, her tender palm tracing down his cheek. Jack almost hummed in content, but stopped himself in time.

“You know, if you keep insisting on doing that in my office, Miss Fisher, I will never get any work done.”

“Is that the case, Inspector Robinson?” He heard her whisper beside his ear, the smell of her perfume mixed with the suggestive tone of her voice, taking his breath away. Jack gulped heavily, clenching and unclenching his fists. Yes, their relationship might have taken a jump forward in the last few days, but nothing had changed about the fact that his body remembered hers all too well. Phryne's warm breath brushed his ear, awakening the sensation of sparks flitting over his skin. To his surprise, she pulled back, leaving him feeling bereft, if somewhat relieved.

“I shall behave then. In your office, that is.”

She gave him a wink and swept out the door without looking back. The Inspector let the breath escape he had been holding, damning his overactive hormones and her flirtatiousness in equal amounts. Then again, her absence gave him an opening he hadn't dared hoping for, even if he would now have to wait a few minutes before he could leave the protective cover of his desk safely, to pursuit his plan.

 

X

 

A scary amount of silence greeted Miss Fisher when she arrived at home. Letting herself into the house, a habit that she rarely kept, she found Dorothy Williams sitting with decisive calmness in the parlour embroidering something incredibly ugly onto a piece of fabric. Phryne watched her for a few seconds, wondering what had happened, until her companion looked up.

“Oh, Miss, I didn't hear you come in.” She smiled. It was a normal, sane, Dot-like smile and Miss Fisher tentatively stepped into the room, wondering if she could trust the sudden change.

“Would you like some tea?”

Miss Fisher nodded, watching as Dot let her work sink onto the sofa and got up to pour her a cup.

“I'm afraid, Sister Magdalene left.” She chatted on. “She wanted to return to her convent and could not to be convinced to stay, so I called Cec and Bert to bring her home. I hope that's alright, Miss?”

A cup was pushed into Miss Fishers hand as she realised, they were still occupied by her hat and gloves.

“Very well, Dot. Sometimes home is the only place someone feels safe.”

And the nun would be, as long as her brother was in Inspector Robinson's caring hands. So while Miss Fisher would have rather liked to have another word with her and maybe found out more about the things Richard refused to talk about, there would be time later, she mused, while she absent-mindedly watched Dorothy Williams wrestling her street garments from her and hanging them up in the hall.

“Miss Fisher?”

“Yes, Dot?”

In astonishment she noticed, that the maid had dropped her eyes to the floor.

“I know I haven't been terribly much help in the last few days. In fact I think I'd been rather a pain, but... Sister Magdalene looked like a ghost and her neck was covered in bruises. Is she going to be alright?”

Phryne sat her cup down and settled into a chair before answering.

“Has she told you anything?”

The answer was underlined by a shake of the head that sent blonde curls flying.

“Nothing, Miss.”

Miss Fisher decided, it was time for Dorothy Williams to grow up and face the music. She told her everything that the maid had missed in her frantic wedding planning. When she reached the break-in at the presbytery, Dot gasped.

“Father Rafael? Who would hurt him? He's such a nice man!”

“The intruder obviously didn't pay much attention to that fact. I'm currently thinking it was the suspect we arrested this morning, but I'll get to that in a moment.”

A thought occurred to her.

“Dot, why does your parish have two priests? Isn't that rather unusual, even for a Catholic church? Especially if they behave like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

Dorothy laughed at this.

“Father Grogan is really not that bad, Miss. He is a very respectable man.”

Miss Fisher nodded grimly. She had heard this argument before – multiple times. It clouded her judgement and she hated when that happened.

“And Father Rafael doesn't actually belong to St. Ignatius. It's his home parish, but he's been a missionary in China until about six month before now. The word is, that he had to return for some health problems, but I didn't ask. It's not proper. Sister Ruth says, he is just getting too old for all the travelling.”

Phryne's attention perked at this.

“I noticed they are not the best of friends.”

Dorothy Williams shook her head.

“She hates him with a passion. There are some whispers that they might have had a romance some years ago and he has left her heart-broken. But I think her service in the Great War did it. She didn't return the same person that went to Britain. I remember her to have been a lovely young nun when we grew up. Always had sweets in her pocket for us children.”

So Sister Ruth had been shaped by the war. Phryne could sympathise with that. The pictures, the sensation of people dying under your hands while you watched on impotently, never went away, no matter how far you pushed it into the back of your mind. It worked till something brought it back up and it was for a moment as if you'd never left. Dot was lost in much fonder memories of boiled candies and liquorice and Phryne wondered how she could gently shake her back into the path of investigation. But she never got around to executing her plan, as just in that moment, a firth knock at the door shook both women out of their reverie. Phryne gestured Dot to stay seated and went to the door herself. She fully expected it to be Mr. Butler returning from his day off, but instead she found a blushing Hugh Collins who had a beautiful woman hanging off his arm.

“Hello Hugh! You brought me a guest?”

“Good evening, Miss Fisher. I ran into the lady down the street and she asked for you, so I thought I'd escort her here.”

Riya Santi winked at Phryne conspirationally, assuring her, that she did not in fact suffer from dementia but rather the longing for the company of an attractive young man. Miss Fisher smiled and let the odd pair into her hall. After Hugh had greeted Dot with a kiss to the cheek, which was about as daring as the bride- and groom-to-be would get at this stage, Miss Fisher lead her old friend into the now abandoned parlour.

“Before I tell you why I have come, I have to pay you a compliment, Phryne. You look ravishing today. Things did work out with the Inspector, I gather?”

The knowing smile spreading over the cocoa-skinned face told Miss Fisher that she didn't have to answer this question and to her embarrassment and surprise, she actually felt herself blushing!

So she did the only thing that she could think of. She changed the subject as quickly as possible.

“Tell me, did you have any plans for Saturday?”

A sweeping gesture answered this.

“Nothing but attempting to twist the universe into the shape my head wants it in. So the usual.” Mrs. Santi laughed.

“Well, if you could tear yourself away from your canvas for an afternoon, would you do us the honour of joining us for a wedding?”

Miss Santi grinned.

“I assume the incredibly charming young man who escorted me here will be attending?”

“I'd rather hope so, you just met his bride.” Phryne stated with a dry smirk.

Riya sighed dramatically at this.

“Another good man going down then.”

The humorous glitter in her eyes belied any suspicion of actual sincerity and so Miss Fisher did not feel compelled to inform her that Hugh and Dot were in fact the one couple in her life for whom she really wished a happy marriage. Even a wholehearted disbeliever like herself could not hold onto her doubts in the face of overwhelming evidence.

Riya Santi had fallen silent, as her host realised with a start and Phryne was somewhat astonished, when asked in a tone of complete seriousness mixed with some shyness, that she had never encountered in the artist before: “Your butler, I didn't catch his name... would he happen to be there?”

Miss Fisher's red lips twisted into a knowing smile. Something told her, she had just found the lucky guest No 54.

 

X

 

Jack Robinson could feel his heart beat in his throat, as he gazed up the impressive facade. He hadn't been to a place like this in at least 10 years. Whatever had made him think this was a great idea? It was stupid at best and unforgivably ridiculous at worst. He turned on his heels, about ready to stalk back to the car, when he bumped into a soft someone.

“Excuse me, Miss.”

Pulling back, he found himself speechless.

“Amber?!”

“Inspector Robinson. Fancy meeting you – again. You aren't following me, are you?”

She grinned broadly, shaking her red locks in a way that was effortlessly attractive. To his utter annoyance Jack Robinson felt a faint heat spreading over his cheeks that he associated with a blush. Why on earth was he blushing?

“Why, Miss Walters, do you think there to be anything the police should pursuit you about?” He asked, hearing to his satisfaction that his voice was completely calm. He felt a sudden rush of boldness.

“But actually, if you would be so kind, I could use your help.”

 

 


	26. Bloodstone

Chapter 26: Bloodstone

 

It was after 7 o'clock, when Phryne looked up from her reading to flick on the lamp in an attempt to fend off the darkness that the rapid;y decending daylight left behind. A key turning in the lock let her release a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. Sitting up in her armchair, she waited until Jack had disposed off his coat and hat. 

He seemed in the best of moods when he slipped into the parlour, kissing her on the cheek and sinking into the chair beside her.

“Good evening, Miss Fisher.”

She looked up briefly from the stack of papers in her hands.

“Hello, Jack. You're late.”

“I'm sorry, Phryne. Paperwork.”

“You are a shocking liar.”

He tensed, but found to his relief that she was smiling.

“Hugh was here this afternoon; he told me that you left the Station about three hours ago.”

The Inspector weighed his options and went with the bold one.

“You have caught me in the act, Miss Fisher. But considering that you are currently sneaking about with not one, but three men behind my back, doubtlessly planning the most wonderful wedding present for our love birds, I am going to take the liberty of having some secrets, too.”

To his satisfaction it took Miss Fisher a moment to close her mouth.

“Oh and talking about secrets, I met Amber the other day in hospital.” He added casually, fully aware that he had her attention.

“How is she?” Phryne asked, similarly relaxed.

“Oh quite well, she seems to be on her best way to becoming a doctor. Certainly through some very generous beneficiaries.”

Jack leaned back in his seat and enjoyed for once having the upper hand in a conversation. The slight flinch was almost unnoticeable, but he knew her well.

“Good on her.” Phryne smiled.

Jack didn't ask her why she had hidden this from him. He could guess her motives well enough; they would be along the lines of not wanting to remind him of the 19 hours he had spent tied to a chair in a basement, on the verge of death. After Phryne had secured Ambers release from prison, they had never talked about the girl again, not giving him a chance to tell her that, while he didn't enjoy the memory of his kidnapping, meeting Amber was actually not something he regret. She had saved him in more than one way that day last autumn. There was of course the obvious of stopping him from bleeding out onto the stone floor and in the end leading Miss Fisher and a brigade of policemen to his rescue. But also, while the thought of Phryne had kept him alive, Amber had let him stay attached to a smidgen of sanity. Her warm, calming hands had reminded him, that there was compassion lurking even in the darkest of shadows, that he was not lost as long as someone still cared. Jack blinked the dark memories away, missing Miss Fishers watchful eyes on him. 

“Oh I should mention, I have invited her to the wedding. To make up the missing numbers.” He smiled, snapping back into his happiness. Miss Fisher was too busy wondering where his train of thoughts had just gone to realise that the magic 53 had not been an issue yet on 'the other day'. She would, when she'd awake the following night from a nightmare of an Inca priest stabbing a young, red headed woman into the heart. But right this moment, she wanted to change the subject and handed the Inspector the pile of paper she had been cradling on her lap.

“On a different note, you might be interested in this.”

He took it hesitantly.

“The translation?”

“Yes, Riya was here to deliver it in the afternoon. I fear though, it might not be as helpful as we hoped.”

Jack looked up from studying the first page.

“This doesn't look like a diary at all.”

“No, it seems to be more of a story collection. Tales. Urban legends, old wives tales. Mostly folk stories, apparently, both set in Australia and in her home country.”

Disappointed, the Inspector flicked through the pages, then set them down. Somehow, the red leather book had been his magic ace in this incredibly frustrating case. And now it had turned out to be a blank card. His main lead was slipping through his fingers like sand.

Jacks enthusiasm evaporated and Phryne's voice was tense, when she spoke again.

“And the worst is: While we are sitting here, reading silly stories about Black Jack, the killer might be picking his next victim.”

 

X

 

 

Father Grogan coughed in the smoke that was invading his lungs in the most impolite manner. His knees ached, when he pulled himself up from the floor in front of the fireplace, straightening his Soutane. He found he was really rather hoping to get a new housekeeper soon, the daily chores of life were just that tad overwhelming at this stage. And Sister Magdalene had not come to his aid this evening as promised. He currently felt rather angry with the young nun and the world in general. The priest continued to settle in his usual chair, pulling the bible onto his lap; it was time to get on with life, he guessed. There was little he could do at this stage to find the murderer of Miss Wentworth and there was absolutely nothing that would bring her back, so he might as well try and be a good Shepard, if nothing else in the world. He just hoped that that bloody young Inspector wasn't as silly in his work as he appeared to be privately. The attraction in women like Miss Fisher had always been beyond Father Grogan's judgement, with their expensive clothes and their wild behaviour. He could honestly say that he despised her noisiness, getting involved in everybodies business and she clearly had wrapped that Inspector of hers around her little finger. The priest scoffed and opened the holy book. But there was some annoying little part of him, that nudged home the fact, that he was also a tiny bit impressed with her. Not a very sane part, he might add. Not that there was anything about her that he found not completely unpleasant or ridiculously inappropriate, but he had heard stories. Many of them and from people who would not lie or at least would confess it to him on Sunday afternoons over in the church. You also had to be blind or a fool to not notice the change little Dorothy Williams had gone through since working for her and Father Grogan didn't like calling himself either. While the lady detective had put many ghastly thoughts into the young girls mind, she also had helped her grow into a woman and one that would proudly stand by her husband from Saturday on. He could only hope that the nuptials she would take would also stop the wild lifestyle she currently led. It might be all good and fine for a woman like Miss Fisher to dash around and chase after murderers, but once god blessed a marriage with children, there needed to be a mother to take care of them.

He picked up his bible again, this time really intending to absorb himself in the Corinthians. But the creaking of the stairs disrupted him, yet again. He sighed under his breath. Only seconds later Father Rafal poked his bandaged head through the door.

“Good evening, Dominic. I will just head over to the church for my evening prayer.”

“Are you feeling better?” Father Grogan asked, more out of politeness than actual interest. “I'm quite sure Doctor Brown said, you ought to stay in bed for at least two days.”

His colleague smiled at this.

“That might be, but prayers shouldn't wait.”

“The Lord will always wait on his sheep to return.”

“Well, it would be rather rude to let him get bored then.” The younger man joked, wandering off in direction of the front door. Father Grogan picked up his reading for the third time, grumbling quietly to himself. He completely missed the small piece of paper, that had fallen from the back of his holy book and slipped between the cushions.

 

X

 

On Friday morning, Detective-Inspector Jack Robinson rose early from a completely empty bed. He distinctly remembered to have fallen asleep beside Phryne, so her absence was kind of disconcerting. Miss Fisher wasn't an early bird by definition. He found her in the dining room, beside a cup of coffee and a familiar pile of papers, looking like she had been up for hours. 

“Those are actually quite interesting, Jack.” She exclaimed, instead of a greeting.

“Are they now?” He asked, falling onto a chair and pouring himself some coffee without looking up.

“Yes, I've been reading all night.” She stopped to look embarrassed. “Well, half the night; I couldn't seem to get back to sleep. But nevermind.”

“Miss Fisher, you are completely insane.” He stated, burning his lips on the hot liquid.

She flickered an appreciative gaze over him.

“And you, Inspector are entirely too well dressed this early in the morning.” She turned back to her pages. “But before you now feel compelled to pay me a compliment that would be a complete lie - and we both know, how bad you are at those - I should read this tale here to you. Listen.”

He did, sipping his coffee, trying to not =drift off into thoughts about how lovely it was to just sit here, sharing the morning with her. Besides the insane killer out there it could have been heaven.

“In the summer of the year 1911 in the village of Niya Su, situated harmoniously in the hills of Mogok valley, Vann, son of Nakaji found a ruby so big nobody had ever seen anything alike. Nakaji, who was a very faithful man, took the stone from his sons hand and realised that the Lord was looking upon him and his own with mercy. So he chose to give the gem to the new built church, to show the glory of God for all the world to see. Seasons changed and it happened, that Vann fell very ill. Nakaji repined with his Lord and went to the church to retrieve the ruby and use it to heal his son.”

At this point, the Inspector cleared his throat.

“I rather hope he intended to pay the doctor's bills with it.” 

“Probably he would have ground it up into some form of liquid, following ancient legend of the stones healing powers.” Miss Fisher stated calmly. “Magic rocks, Jack. Not something a man like you can relate to.”

He raised an eyebrow at this, but went quiet to let her go on.

“But when the next morning broke, the people of Niya Su found the man dead upon the steps to the altar and the ruby had dissolved into his blood on the stone.“ 

Phryne looked up.

“Sounds suspiciously similar to our murder.” She stated dryly, draining her cup.

“You think that our killer is copying this myth?” Jack asked, shivering slightly in the cold of the morning.

“Our ruby hasn't done a disappearing act though.”

“Maybe the killer was disturbed?”

Phryne chewed on her lip.

“Or maybe it is a lot simpler than that!”

Their eyes locked, then both detectives jumped to their feet and rushed to the door.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	27. Angelite

Chapter 27: Angelite

 

When the detectives stormed into the kitchen of the presbytery a mere 15 minutes later, they found Sister Magdalene there, calmly washing dishes. Besides the scarf wrapped around her neck despite the already rising heat outside, she looked like yesterdays events had never happened.

“Sister.” Miss Fisher panted, “I know its terribly rude to not ask how you are right now, but I need to find the Father. Where is he?”

The nun seemed a little confused. “They are both in the church. Father Rafael is compelled to read the morning Mass, despite everything and I think Father Grogan followed him to talk him out of it.”

“Thank you!” Jack pressed out, before chasing after Phryne in the direction of the bluestone.

Angry voices reached them from the Sanctuary, before the detectives could fling the door open. They found a half dressed Father Rafael, standing near the door leading into the church, before him with a stony expression the other priest, waving something that looked suspiciously like a kitchen knife.

“Father Grogan, drop it.” Jack yelled, watching Phryne as she raised her pistol and damning, that he didn't have his own. But the priest didn't seem to hear him.

“It was him. He poisoned Miss Wentworth!” He pressed out. “She left me a message before she died. Put it in my bible. I was just too distraught to notice it.”

He waves a tightly folded up piece of paper blindly in the direction of the Inspector who pried it gently from his hands. A rough drawing of the ruby showed itself, beside that the words “Father Rafael” and smaller and much harder to read: “1912-1914”.

“He was trying to steal the ruby with Thana! And she found out.” Dominic Grogan growled.

“And there you got the wrong end of the stick, Father.” A happy voice chipped in. “Thana was not trying to steal this ruby and neither was Father Rafael.”

“Please, Miss Fisher, he's gone insane.” The pale priest begged. “I would never steal anything from the Lord.”

“No you wouldn't. In fact, you donated this stone to St. Ignatius, didn't you?”

Now Father Grogan turned his head in surprise.

“What?!”

Jack Robinson's calm, deep voice filled the Sacristy.

“He brought this ruby back from his travels as a missionary. From Mogok Valley to be exact in 1914. After he had pried it from a dead man's hands.”

“He was trying to steal it! From the Lord.” The priest spat. “God is not your buddie, you can't just give him things and then retrieve them again when you want them back. It was an accident, he fell and hit his head while we argued.”

“So you took the gem that had someones blood on it and gave it back to your Lord.” The Inspector stated, barely disguising his disgust.

“And you probably thought you'd gotten away with it, till Thana found out. She liked collecting little urban legends and when she stumbled over this one, she put one and one together, like the clever girl she was. And you caught her having a secret look at it, so you decided to silence her for good.”

Phryne watched Jack sneaking closer to Father Grogan. She really didn't want to continue fitting the pieces of this ugly puzzle together while the priest was still holding a, from the looks of it, rather sharp object in his trembling hands.

“Give me the knife, Father.” The Inspector gently urged. “We'll take it from here. He will get justice.”

For a moment it looked like they were getting away with it, the grip around the steel loosened but then in the blink of an eye, Father Rafael ripped the knife from his colleague's hands, pushed him back against the policeman and ran for it.

The altar servers and a small collection of loyal believers who had crawled out of the bed early in the morning to hear the holy word, watched a priest in half his garment speed past them down the middle isle, chased by another priest, who swore in loud and completely unholy words right now, followed by a policeman and a well-dressed lady swinging a golden gun.

“Good morning, Father.” An old lady called out pleasantly and Father Grogan answered with, “Good morning, Mrs. Roberts,” without slowing down.

Father Rafael stormed towards the front door, but found that a chatty ring of elder maidens were blocking the exit, turned to the right, where a rather grumpy looking Sister Ruth currently emerged from the side entrance and decided to chase past the baptistery, ripping the only door open he could find. That was a mistake, as he realised the second his feet found the first steps. Nevertheless, he took two at a time, hearing the panting of an older, but suitably fuelled by fury, Father Grogan and of the two bloody detectives. Half up the stairs, Father Grogan's breath ran low and he had to watch on as Miss Fisher sped past him, Inspector Robinson hot on her heels. He really was too old for this. But he clenched his jaw and went on. Miss Wentworth's death would be avenged, even if it would kill him. Miss Fisher was the first to reach the top of the steps. High above her hung the bells in the tower, but the priest was nowhere to be seen. She raised her weapon and took a look around.

“Father Rafael, you're trapped, there is no exit. Please do us all the favour and give up.” She said pleasantly, while taking a few steps into the room sweeping her eyes through the corners. She noticed the movement behind herself a second too late. An arm slipped around her, the very moment Jack Robinson arrived on the landing. He paled in shock as the priest, who had madness glittering in his eyes, took Miss Fisher in a firm grasp, slipping a cold blade to the porcelain skin of her throat, a tiny misjudgement drawing a red drop of blood that dribbled down the curve of her neck.

“Drop it, Miss Fisher.” He growled, the golden pistol cluttering to the floor. “And you, Inspector, don't even think about moving.”

Detective-Inspector Robinson was currently too busy to remember how to breath. Helplessly he watched on as Father Rafael dragged Phryne backwards towards a big window, the morning light falling through it, illuminating both of them like a halo. He found himself silently praying to the God this crazy man had killed for. Loud panting behind him indicated, that Father Grogan had finally arrived too.

“There you are Dominic.” Father Rafael called out, his green eyes sparkling. “Do you see now the power of the Lord? We are all walking in his light to wash the sin from this earth. Thana didn't know what she was talking about. She wanted the ruby for herself, you see. She said, I stole it. Said I murdered for it. She had no idea. What is the Lord's, cannot be taken by humans.”

“Why Miss Wentworth?” Father Grogan asked calmly, solemly. “Why did you kill Rosalind? She was a woman of God. All her life she had served him and you poisoned her like a rat!”

Phryne was not entirely sure if she liked the way this conversation was going. The grip around her chest had gotten tighter, she was blinking in the bright light and the man behind her, breathing into her neck that was cold from sweat and fear, showed signs of spiralling into madness. Her eyes locked with Jacks, who looked frozen to the spot in terror.

“Ahh, Miss Wentworth. That was a bit of a shame, I'll admit. But she strayed off the path. Said, she found evidence and that I should give myself up. But only God will be my judge!”

Jack watched the knife flicker dangerously close to Phryne's windpipe and squeezed his eyes shut for the split of a second, trying to draw a breath into his resilient lungs. He could not have a meltdown right now, he needed to find a way to get her out of his grasp.

“Father. Let her go, please. She has done nothing to you.”

What followed could have been described as a mad cackle.

“She a heathen, Inspector. I know what she's up to. What you _both_ are up to.” Two piercing green eyes stared at him like pieces of glowing stone, making Jack Robinson want to leash out. Phryne's begged him to stay calm, she was forming some sort of plan, he was sure. But he could also tell, that they were running out of time.

“But the Lord loves all his children.” Father Grogan's voice boomed through the bell tower. The Detective-Inspector had almost forgotten about him. “And he does not want you to take any life. Does it not say in the ten commandment 'Thou shalt not kill'?”

Doubt flickered through the Russian Jade of Father Rafael's eyes. Both men used the moment to sneak a little bit closer. “Does the Lord not say, that you should love your enemies? Forgive the sinners? Who are you to judge her, Rafael? You are merely a tool of God, you cannot stand against his will. Release this woman and then come with me to beg God's forgiveness for your sins.”

Phryne Fisher found herself rather speechless, which was not only caused by the knife still held to her throat and the strong arm squeezing the air out of her lungs. So this was it? This was the magic, that had people drawn to this man! When push came to shove he was a compassionate man, with a voice low and majestic and words that snuck under your skin to linger. She felt the grip around herself loosen, the knife slipping a few millimeters lower. Jack's face betrayed that he was close to fainting of breathlessness. The clicking of a pistol's safety being taken of, ripped through the tension. The two men spun to see Patrick Blanchfield stand in the door, holding the golden pistol in his hands. His whole body was trembling. Jack made an involuntary step between the weapon and Phryne, but the kid walked further into the room, pushing past him in the progress.

“So you killed Thana!” He stated in a dangerously quiet voice. The pale Father Rafael was staring on in astonishment and Phryne took the moment of breathless silence to sink her teeth into his hand, spinning out of his grip in one gracious twirl, while the priest howled in pain.

“Phryne!”

Jack rushed forward on wobbly knees and grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the reach of knives and pistols. He really just wanted to press her to himself right now and give in to the overwhelming wave of relief that was washing over him, threatening to let his legs buckle. But of course he couldn't, Patrick was still waving a pistol at the murderous priest.

“Patrick, give me the weapon. He will be brought to justice.” Father Grogan intervened, while Jack was still searching for a voice in his dry throat. But the kid lifted his chin.

“He killed Thana! He killed everything I had!”

Phryne rolled her eyes at that, wiping her dishevelled hair out of her face. The delusions of young love indeed. Quite serious though when underlined with bullets, sadly. The kid slowly stepped closer to the priest, who had paled.

“You wouldn't shoot me, Patrick.” He said, panic obvious in his voice. “The Lord doesn't want you to kill.”

“And yet, you have!”

An eardrum-tearing bang ripped the silence in the clock tower in half. Glass shattered. As Phryne dared to open her eyes again, Father Rafael had frozen in time, standing white as the wall beside the broken window, shards of glass littered around his feet. Patrick looked a little dazed and she wasn't quite sure if he had missed his target on purpose. He raised the weapon for another attempt.

“Patrick! Don't!” Jack said quietly, laying a hand on the kids arms that he hoped was calming. “He's not worth it.”

“He killed Thana.” The young man repeated like a mantra.

“Yes, he did and he will die for it, but not today and not by your hand.” The Inspector said soothingly, his voice rough with emotion.

“Why not? He didn't care!”

“Yes, but you do and when you pull this trigger, Patrick, then you are a murderer and you don't want that. Thana wouldn't want that.”

Time seemed to stopped as a decision was made. Then slowly, centimeter for centimeter the barrel sank down. The Inspector took the weapon from the unresisting hands of the adolescent, drawing a breath of relief. Shoes crunched on glass in his back caused him to turn. He saw Father Rafael climb the window seal that opened up into the sky, letting in a rather sharp draft at this height.

“Only God will be my judge.” He said. It was uttered quietly, calmly, but nevertheless seemed to boom off the walls. Then he fell, his Mass garment fluttering in the wind like golden wings. For a few seconds there was just breathless silence, then a low thud from the street below. Phryne stepped to the window and wished in the same moment, she hadn't. Nobody could survive this, not even someone with a very attentive guardian angel. A hand touched her lower back. She turned to see Jack look at her with tears in his eyes, as the tension broke. She resisted the urge to throw herself into his arms, if only barely, but grabbed his hand nevertheless, while behind them Father Grogan guided a disturbed Patrick down the stairs.

“Let's go home.” She said. There was nothing in the world Jack Robinson would rather have done.

 


	28. Sapphire

Chapter 28: Sapphire

 

Sadly, returning home was not really an option for a Homicide Detective while there was a dead body lying in Church Street, currently seeping a mixture of liquids onto the cobbles. So Jack gently removed Miss Fisher's hand from his own, resisting the want to press a kiss to it and sent his pale lover home to get some rest and break the news to the yet clueless Miss Williams. Phryne went reluctantly, unhappy to leave him behind. But there was little that she could accomplish in the eyes of passers by, shocked parishers and police officers and so she returned to St. Kilda, where after a bath to attempt and wash not only blood and sweat, but also memories from her skin, she sat down with her maid to tell her who had killed her friends. Dorothy took the news calmly, collectedly. Then she went to clean Miss Fishers white blouse that had suffered a small bloodstain.

Phryne decided to blame her shakiness onto the lack of sleep and found herself little later in an aquamarine bedroom, snuggling into a pillow that smelled faintly of Jack's aftershave. A kiss being brushed onto her naked shoulder shook her gently out of restless dreams.

“You seem to be occupying my side of the bed, Miss Fisher.” Jack stated smiling, while he sat down heavily beside her. “Then again, you also seem to be occupying my bedroom.”

“You want me to leave?” She teased, smiling too.

He shook his head, looking upset and tired and Miss Fisher pulled herself up to wrap her arms around him. His eyes locked onto hers, cupping her face.

“You know.” He said quietly. “There are days when I feel a deep distaste to my choice of occupation.”

She cocked her head.

“But you are so good at it, Inspector.”

He smiled, this time more genuine.

“Therein lies the curse, Miss Fisher. Too good to give it up.”

They shared a kiss and she had every intention to pull him into bed and let him forget all of his worries, but to her utter disappointment, he consulted his watch.

“I'm afraid I'll have to leave again, Phryne. But I should be back for dinner.”

She watched him, as he went, then pulled herself out of bed sighing. No time to brood around. There was after all a wedding to prepare for.

 

X

 

Returning from his appointment, the Inspector found himself sneaking into his home like a school kid who had poured glue onto the teachers chair. The stairs creaked too loud as he stole up into the first floor. Just when he laid a hand onto the door handle, he heard a voice in his back that very clearly stated that he had been caught.

“Good evening, Inspector.”

He turned to stare into the grinning face of Mr. Butler and laid a finger to his lips in an effort to shut him up. His fear that he would be as usually politely defeated by the servant, proved untrue, as recognition dawned on the face of the elder man. He gave him a nod of understanding and left him alone with the box that he was holding in his hands. Jack flung the door shut behind himself, thanking God quietly, that Phryne had retreated from his bedroom and looked for a place she wouldn't search. Ten minutes later he emerged with a content smile to greet his lover. When he opened her own bedroom door, the breath hitched in his chest.

Phryne had decided to try on the tempting frock in her wardrobe that she would don tomorrow afternoon and that had been calling out to her for a fortnight with its silken, night blue drapes and silvery details and so Jack found her, twirling like a little girl in front of her mirror.

It wasn't so much the dress, he decided. It was the way it made her look, falling in soft waves around her, clinging to all the right places, but mostly the way it made her hold herself, the contrast to her soft, white skin, the way she smiled, like a contented cat after devouring a bowl of cream.

“What do you think, Jack?”

Jack Robinson wasn't at all that sure that there was any thinking involved. He opened his mouth to pay her a compliment, tell her that she looked so beautiful that it had literally taken his breath away, but there were no words coming out. So he decided to shut up and instead stepped into the room, taking the back of her hand and brushing a kiss to it. She cocked her head, looking at him questioningly.

“You look stunned.” She observed.

Jack had to clear his throat.

“That is probably, because you are quite stunning, Miss Fisher.” He threw back, with a dry smirk.

“In fact, excuse me for a moment.”

And with that he was out the door, leaving a confused Phryne Fisher behind. She was just starting to get annoyed with his constant disappearances, when he returned, holding a flat box in front of himself like a peace offering.

“It was actually meant for your birthday next week.” He explained, looking sheepish, “But there is no excuse to deny it from you while you are wearing this dress, I fear.”

Phryne took the box from him and opened it, looking in awe at a necklace made up of two strands of platinum, playfully weaving around small but sparkling droplets of blue and white sapphires. She looked up, saw the anxiety in his eyes while he watched her reaction closely.

“Give me a hand?” She asked.

With quite unsteady fingers he closed the clasp around her porcelain neck, trying to ignore the tiny wound a knife had left there earlier in the day. Miss Fisher returned to the mirror, gently running her fingertips over Jack's present. She did not remember ever having received anything more precious. It also must have cost him more than a months salary, she realised with a start. Jack had stepped behind her, running his hands over her upper arms. He did not miss the tiny shadow that crept over Phryne's features for a split second. Nervously he licked his lips.

“I know it's not quite what you usually wear.” He tried with a smile. “I also fear I don't have your taste or your financial means, but it did make me think of you.”

She spun in his arms, suddenly standing so close he could feel the heat radiating through her dress.

“Shhss.” She murmured, looking up at him, then closing his lips with hers. “It is perfect.”

His arms as usually made their own decisions and wrapped around her effortlessly, pulling her closer, in a quiet rustle of silk. She had returned to taking possession of his mouth, taking his breath away with her smell and her warmth, while slipping his coat of his shoulders and stirring him towards the bed. Jack felt his head starting to swim, he really just wanted to rip all the fabric from their bodies that separated them and sink into her, crawl under her skin, forget the day and all the horror it had brought, but his head kicked in just in time.

“Phryne.” He mumbled into her mouth. Released her from his arms and gently pulled her backwards, detaching her from himself slightly. “Phryne!”

She grumbled at him, only reluctantly retreating from her attack on his face. He could sense annoyance bubble. “The dress! You need to take it off.”

She grinned while her restless fingers found one of his nipples through the layers of fabric.

“That was my full intention.”

He groaned loudly, biting his lip, when her fingers twisted around the sensitive bud.

“Seriously, Phryne. I will not be responsible, when your dress is creased tomorrow.” He protested, as she manoeuvred him further towards the bed, desperately trying to hold on to some sort of sanity. She pulled her red lips into a pout, but let go of him to slip out of her dress and gently drape it over a chair.

“Happy?” She asked sulkily, turning to see him flick his gaze over the lingerie that had been hiding. His voice sounded husky with lust, when he reached out a hand to let it run over the silken fabric covering her breasts and drawing a soft moan from her lips.

“Absolutely, Miss Fisher.”

“I'm glad to hear it.” Phryne smirked, before returning to her task of ripping the clothes from the body she really longed to feel, while assaulting his mouth with her own. Jack's hand fisted into her hair as he tried his best to meet her challenge with equal enthusiasm. It wasn't long till they stumbled onto the bed, her landing heavily on him. She really was quite heavy for her frame, Jack caught himself thinking, before he ceased to think, surrendering to the burning paths the touch of Phryne's soft hands left on his skin and the sparks flying off his fingers, as he trailed them along her curves. She had ended up on top of him, moving at a slow, almost torturous pace and he stretched out his hand to follow a little droplet of sweat that was running down her cheek and neck, till he reached the sapphires, that were currently her only form of dress. He hadn't thought anything that money could buy could ever be this erotic.

An artful twist of Miss Fisher's hips took his breath away and let a heatwave run though his veins, that he rid out with closed eyes till its effects slowly subsided. The cheeky smile greeting him when he looked up at her again, drove home the point that she really didn't consider this the time to ponder. She demanded his full attention and the Inspector was only too happy to oblige.

 

X

 

The morning came as it was it's habit after every night, even the ones that hadn't held much sleep for its occupants. Miss Fisher groaned, when a cheeky spear of sunlight borrowed through her curtains and tickled her most rudely in the nose. Her hand felt for Jack, but found only a piece of paper. Blurry-eyed she tried to focus, while keeping her hair from falling into her eyes.

“Seeing to the happy groom. Meet you at the church. Good luck.” She read aloud. There was no poet lost on Jack, she realised, grinning to herself, while she fell back into the pillows for five minutes sleep. It turned into half an hour easily, before she managed to drag herself into an upright position. Her servants seemed to have completely forgotten about her, which she found was fair enough on a day like today. So she ran herself a bath and wondered, what it would take to get Dot on time and preferably looking fabulous to St. Ignatius. The hairdresser was coming at 10, Simone had promised to have a last look at the dress around 11, just to see if there werem.au any drapes falling wrong or any ribbons coming undone and Cec and Bert had promised to bring the car around at exactly 12:30, unless they wanted to be faced with the wrath of their employer.

Ryan had dropped by late last night, happiness written all over his face, letting Mr. Butler pass on the message, that her present was perfect and ready. She hadn't had time anymore to have a look at it, without alerting Dot, but had asked for Jack to drop by quickly before he left, so he could satisfy her curiosity really, not because she didn't trust the boys to have made a miracle happen. So everything was perfect really. Phryne leaned back into her bath and relaxed, letting the smell of lavender carry her away. It was already 10:43, when she dried herself off and happily slipped into some pants that would sustain her till it was time for the dress that Jack had thankfully had the presence of mind to save last night. It glistened quietly in the morning light, bringing back fond memories and let her feel for the sapphires, that were still wrapped around her neck. It was really the most precious of gifts, mostly due to the person giving it to her. With a smile painted onto her lips, she wandered to Dorothy's bedroom, found a bustling about hairdresser there but no happy bride and went on down the stairs. She could hear the sobbing on entering the dining room. Mr. Butler shot a a distraught look, when she teached the kitchen. Dorothy Williams sat, wrapped in her stunning bridal gown at the table, crying into a cup of tea.

“Dot. What's wrong?” Phryne exclaimed, lying a hand onto her shoulder and looking to Mr. Butler for an explanation – He only shrugged helplessly. A pair of blurry eyes, framed by a perfect head of hair, looked up at Miss Fisher.

“I can't get married today, Miss. I can't.”

 


	29. Pearl

Chapter 29: Pearl

 

Miss Fisher pulled a chair to Dot's side and sat down. Her knees felt rather wobbly at this stage. Her stomach twisted, like she had sensed this to go terribly wrong all along and it had finally happened. Only, she hadn't. She had blamed Dorothy's strange behaviour on the usual bridal flutters. She grabbed her companion's hand and pulled her around to face her.

“Dot, tell me what's wrong. What happened?”

Sobbing answered her, then sniffles.

“I just woke up this morning and realised I can't get married, Miss.”

Helplessly Miss Fisher sought out support from Mr. Butler, but even he seemed out of his depth. 

“Is it because of the murders? Do you want to go somewhere else? I'm sure we can arrange something.” She tried, rubbing calming circles on her maids wrist. But the younger woman shook her head.

“No, I want St. Ignatius. I've been going there since I was a little girl. And I always imagined I would marry there.”

A faint smile, briefly ghosting over her face let Phryne draw some hope that this was not lost yet.

“It's Hugh.” The girl finally wailed. Miss Fisher was gobsmacked and scared in equal amounts.

“But you love him!” She stated quietly, holding her breath. In front of her inner eye she saw Hugh Collins looking at her, his heartbreak mirrored in eyes as big as two dinner plates when she would cancel the wedding. It couldn't be true!

“Yes, I do.” This time the wet smile let a weight drop of Miss Fisher's heart.

“So what is it, Dot!”

“If I marry Hugh, everything will change. I won't live here anymore, with you and Mr. Butler and Jane and the Inspector. And I won't go investigating with you and you won't introduce me as 'Miss Williams, my companion' anymore.”

The Honourable Phryne Fisher couldn't help but smile at this.

“That is very true. I might have to come up with a new introduction. But Dot, things change. That doesn't have to be a bad thing.”

“But I don't want things to change. And Hugh wants us to move in with his mother!”

New sobs shook the girl's shoulders and Phryne looked with humorous eyes at Mr. Butler. So this was the point of this little meltdown.

“And she hates me.” Dot went on. “She still hasn't forgiven, that he converted and it will all fall apart. And I don't want it to fall apart. I love him! But we can't afford a place of our own just yet.”

Miss Fisher slipped to her feet and stretched out an inviting hand.

“Let me show you something, Dot.”

She pulled the surprised companion from her chair and behind her out into the hall, past the guest rooms, the back parlour and plenty of other stuffy rooms, that nobody ever seemed to enter much, besides probably Mr. Butler to dust them, to the other end of the hall where she stopped in front of a door that Dorothy Williams had never noticed there before.

“You remember the townhouse down the road, at the end of our block, Dot?”

“The ghosthouse?”

“That one. Even though I find myself rather wishing right now, you wouldn't call it that.”

Miss Fisher sighed, while pulling a silver key from the pocket of her silken trousers. The little townhouse had in fact never had any tenants since Miss Fisher had moved her colourful family into the Victorian Mansion in it's direct neighbourhood. If that was caused by it's abandoned appearance or by fright of the moral decline behind the shared wall, only God and probably some real estate broker knew. Nobody remembered why it had ever been separated from the main building, but it probably had been some sort of staff-accommodation. And that was pretty much what Miss Fisher intended it to be again. With a majestic gesture she pushed the door open.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Collins.”

Dot stepped through the door in awe and Miss Fisher had to admit, that her mouth stayed open for a moment longer than she had expected it to, as well. Ryan and the Cabbies really had done her proud. It was of course a little more restrained than her own house. The walls for example were painted in a rather boring shade of cream rather than in all colours of the rainbow. But then again, this was Dot's home. Dot's and Hugh's. If they would have it. There was no danger really, she found, as her companion spun on her heels, taking in every small detail of the selected furniture and the thoughtful decoration.

“Is this...do you mean...” She seemed speechless.

“This is my wedding gift for you, Dot. It was intended to be given to you after you tied the knot but then again it seems to be the time for hasty gifts.” She smiled, her fingers unconsciously finding the necklace she hadn't bothered to take off. Dorothy was only listening with half an ear however, currently bustling through the rooms, occasionally exclaiming “Ahhs” and “Ohhhs” about the sofa, the dining table and the vase upon the fireplace. Phryne caught up to her in the kitchen, where she was running her fingertips over the wooden counter in silent concentration.

“I can see us living here.” The maid said quietly. “I can see us sitting there on the table eating breakfast.”

Miss Fisher felt her heart warm at the absent look in the brides eyes, who seemed to have completely forgotten, that only half an hour ago she hadn't wanted to become Mrs. Collins anymore.

The sound of a key turning in the lock let her spin around in the middle of this heart-wrenching moment. Male voices drew closer. Dot was still too absorbed in inspecting her brand new oven to care. 'Oh dear', was all Phryne could think, before the door flew open and an excitedly chatting Hugh, followed by a Jack on the verge of bursting into laughter appeared in the door frame, stopping in the middle of a sentence he had just uttered. He stared in shock at his bride, who, while still somewhat red around the eyes, stood enlightened by the sunlight flooding her kitchen, with an angelic smile on her face in her wedding dress. Then the groom slapped his hand in front of his eyes.

“Dottie! What are you doing... you're not supposed to be here! I can't see you before the wedding, that's bad luck.”

Laughing, Dorothy Williams stepped towards her fiancé, who already donned his tuxedo and peeled the fingers from his face, to reveal his eyes being tightly squeezed shut.

“Hugh, three people died in the week before our wedding. What other terrible things you reckon could happen to us?”

While Phryne's and Jack's smiling eyes locked over the heads of the young couple, Hugh Collins slowly opened his lashes to look at his bride.

“Dottie, you look...” He trailed off.

“If the next word from your mouth is not 'beautiful', Hugh Collins, you will never hear the end of it for the eternity of our marriage.” Dot stated, only half joking.

“I was more thinking along the lines of amazing.” He said, absolutely serious.

“That will do.”

Firmly, she grabbed his hand and pulled him through their house to show him every single little detail. Jack Robinson took the moment to step into the kitchen and reunite with a woman of his own, his eyes flickering for a moment over the sapphires still wrapped around her neck, like they belonged there.

“What are you doing here, Jack?” Phryne asked, not hiding the smile in her voice. “This was supposed to be a surprise present.”

“I'm afraid we ran into a small hurdle, threatening Collins' resolve to get married today.”

Miss Fisher raised her eyebrows at this, while the Inspector pulled his lips into a serious line.

“The best man is lying in bed with a fever and the Constable suffered a spell of cold feet. So I chose to convince him that it's too late to be a coward.”

“But we are still short a best man.” Miss Fisher stated.

“I'm afraid I got promoted.”

The Inspector had the decency to look embarrassed and Miss Fisher took his arm laughing.

“Does Father Grogan know you are a Protestant?”

“No, and I have no intention to tell him. The poor man has suffered enough.”

 

X

 

 

After the bride and groom had finally been convinced that appearing late to their own wedding really would mean bad luck in the form of Father Grogan's wrath, the four separated in order to get ready for church. Miss Fisher fixed Dot's runny make-up before hastily slipping into her own dress, while the Cabbie's were already waiting in front of the door, honking the horn just for the pure joy of it. While she closed the clasp of the loaned bridal pearl necklace, Phryne revelled in the sparkle that had returned to the bride's eyes. 

“You do look absolutely beautiful, Dot.” She smiled, carefully brushing a kiss to the apricot coloured cheeks, without smearing her lipstick onto the pale skin of her companion.

Dorothy grasped her employer's hand and squeezed it, her excitement now wetting her palms with sweat.

“Thank you.” She said, and Miss Fisher had the suspicion it wasn't only for the compliment. She fished for the flowers, that had surprisingly turned out to be pink roses and lavender and handed them to the bride.

“Are you ready?”

“As ready as I'll ever be.”

When the limousine that Phryne had hired for the day, finally pulled up in front of the bluestone facade, she had to briefly shut her eyes to fade out any pictures of lifeless limbs on the cobbles. Instead she concentrated on the people waiting for them. Jack and Hugh were nowhere to be seen, doubtlessly already waiting at the altar, but besides an abundance of children and their mothers – it was after all a good Catholic family Hugh was marrying into - and an aunt that smelled faintly of moth-balls and hugged Phryne as if she was the niece she was marrying off today, there were also Alice and Nell. It had taken some convincing for Father Grogan to let a prostitute be the Maid of Honour but in the end the “Mary Magdalene” argument had left him no room for further protest. A serious looking man with grey hair kissed Dot on the forehead and pulled back with tears in his eyes, before he offered his daughter his arm to lead her up the stairs and through the portal. Phryne found she was holding her breath, when she stepped through the door, faint organ music in her ears. The church was dipped into light that glimmered of the stone pillars and drew rainbows onto the floor, where it fell through coloured glass. At the end of the aisle stood a Hugh, who looked like he was about to faint, but Phryne brushed her eyes over him quickly, if with a fond smile to concentrate on the man beside him. Jack looked proud and handsome and really... She ran out of words to describe the feeling in her chest, having to stop her feet from just keeping to walk till she reached him and instead slipping into one of the many benches. Only when she sat down, did she realise, that she had taken the men's side, a splash of colour in the middle of black tuxedos. Jack had noticed it too, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance at her for having to cause a stir even choosing a seat. His eyes didn't let go of her until Dot had reached the altar and Father Grogan began the ceremony. 

Miss Fisher had to admit, it was beautiful. He spoke of love, it's meaning, it's secrets and how it would keep those two together. Dot smiled so tenderly at Hugh that Miss Fisher felt tears prick in her eyes. There was more - she was sure there was, because weddings tended to be long and included an abundance of weird rituals, there were rings traded and wine drunk and papers signed and a lot of singing in Latin, but honestly the lady detective couldn't have described any details if her life had depended on it. Her eyes were glued to the three people standing at the altar, with her heart beating in her chest as if it had every intention to jump out and run over to them. A hand found hers, pressing it only for a second. She looked up at Mr. Butler, who was smiling a discrete smile, completely betrayed by the wetness glittering in his own eyes. She hadn't noticed him joining her but nevertheless, she was glad he had. In the sanctuary, oblivious to all of this, Hugh Collins was swimming in his own world, that was currently held completely by the pair of eyes looking up at him. He felt he was going to drown in happiness if someone was not to throw him a life ring soon. He also felt, he didn't mind drowning all that much really. And then it was over, there was music and a hand pulling him down the aisle. The hand of his wife, he realised startled and it was dragging him with some resolve. There were flowers thrown, one of them hitting him in the left eye and making him go blind for the split of a moment or maybe it was just the tears, that he really didn't want to shed in front of everybody. He kissed Dot again, inhaled her sweet scent and was a little shocked, when he realised, that she was crying too. 


	30. Moonstone

Chapter 30: Moonstone

 

The afternoon slipped by in a haze of champagne and happiness, with chatter and music thrown in and topped off with rather lovely canapés. People laughed dutifully as Dot fed Hugh the cake with so much force, that he looked like a kid at christmas time and watched their wedding walz in awe, even though he stepped onto his bride's foot, which cut it a little short and challenged Dot's ability to not swear in front of nun's and priests somewhat. 

Phryne Fisher felt a certain restlessness that she couldn't explain and dove out into the garden for a breath and a smoke. As she wandered along the rock lined path, searching for inner peace in the fresh air and a cigarette in her handbag, she found a white-haired man sitting on a bench, his back turned to her. Phryne considered briefly to thank Father Grogan for the ceremony, but he didn't look like he really wanted company, especially her's. Just when she turned to leave quietly, her fingers closed around something that she had almost forgotten about and she stopped. After a moments thought, she silently stepped beside the priest and sat down. 

“Before you bite my head off, Father, I have no intention to disturb you. Your dislike of my person is quite clear, but I would like to return something to you that I don't think the police will need any longer.” 

She held out the relict to him that the priest took after a moment's hesitation.

“It was hidden behind a picture in Miss Wentworth's room. A beautiful photograph of a garden party.” Phryne said, rising to her feet. When she walked away, the gravel crunching under her shoes, she felt like she heard the faint sound of someone trying not to cry. She kept walking. Those tears had been coming on a long time too, but they were not hers to share. 

When she returned to the terrace, there was a familiar frame leaning against the balustrade, a cigarette in hand and a smirk on his face. Phryne hopped onto the railing beside him and plucked the glowing stick from his fingers, fondly remembering the first one they had ever shared. It seemed like a long time ago now.

“Are you enjoying yourself then, Jack?” She asked teasingly.

“Not as much as those two, it seems.” His chin nodded towards a pergola in the distance, where Riya, dressed in a shimmering green something, that should have made her look like a distraught frog, but didn't, was currently laughing at something obviously very funny, Tobias Butler had whispered to her. The golden jewellery draped all over her jingled as her shoulder's shook in amusement and the Butler looked incredibly proud with himself.

“She does remind me a little of a Christmas tree.” Phryne laughed, with a hint of envy in her voice.

“I think your Butler currently wishes it was Christmas.” The Inspector smirked, taking his cigarette back from her unresisting hands.

“Good on him.”

A soft breeze shook the trees and rained the lovely couple in the distance with a shower of flower petals. A hand of very fine artistic fingers lifted to a well shaven cheek and Miss Fisher averted her eyes following the sudden feeling that she was intruding into something that was as much private as it was beautiful.

On a wooden park bench somewhat further away, Father Grogan was holding onto a single sheet of paper like it tied him to the universe, being as still as he could, while fighting for control over his emotions. The wind took an unsuspecting moment to curiously flick up the edge, revealing to the world the last verse of a poem:

 

“ _So we must keep apart,_

_You there, I here,_

_With just the door ajar_

_That oceans are,_

_And prayer,_

_And that pale sustenance,_

_Despair!”_

 

On this beautiful December afternoon, sitting alone in the garden with the soft breeze wafting over the smell of lavender and faint music, Father Dominic Grogan, for the first time in many years, lost his battle. 

 

 

X

 

It must have been some time during dinner, when the conversation finally turned to the elephant in the room: The string of death that had lately haunted the parish.

“So, Miss Fisher, how did you and the Inspector find out that it was Father Rafael?” Hugh Collins, who had drunk a little bit too much champagne at this stage, asked. “He seemed nice, when I met him.”

“Actually, Hugh,” Phryne said, sipping on her glass of wine, “That's what raised my suspicion in the first place. He was just too nice for a Catholic priest. No offence, Father Grogan.”

“None taken.” The priest threw back calmly, to the amusement of the whole table. It was accompanied by something that could have almost been a smile.

“The vase to his head threw me a little bit of his trail.” Phryne admitted. “But I rather suspect, that that was Richard Rivett.”

“That is a fact, Miss Fisher.” A deep voice cut in. The Inspector smiled, slightly embarrassed as the attentions turned to him. “I was on the phone to the station earlier. My secret weapon worked.”

When eyes kept being glued to him, he set his glass down to explain. 

“Inspector Morgan. A man so boring, that the wall-paper rolls up in his presence. After two hours with him, Rivett was begging to confess everything. Funnily he seems to remember that he already found an intruder in Miss Wentworth's room, when he tried to rob it. So I guess Father Rafael was looking for the paper she had confronted him with, rather than a strange sound that night.”

Phryne snuck a look at the priest sitting not far from her, wondering how he felt about the betrayal of his friend. But to her surprise, Father Grogan looked rather like he was enjoying himself, chatting animatedly with Sister Magdalene who also seemed to have taken things quite well. So they would be alright. That was something.

Dancing was picked up again, as well as drinking and she found herself soon in Jack's arms, waltzing over the dance-floor. Despite their little courting dance that they had drawn out over almost two years, Phryne realised that they had never yet actually swayed. He usually was reluctant to join into open displays of their relationship, but not today. Still it felt natural, like they had never done anything else and she noticed a hint of regret in her heart, when the music trailed off. Jack bowed lightly with a twinkle in his eye and made room for Bert, who was eager to swing his employer over the dance-floor. Leaning against the wall, Jack Robinson watched her every move, when a hand touched his arm.

“Would you care to dance with me, Inspector?” Amber Walters asked, tilting her head. He understood and little later they were turning with the other couples.

“So how did it work out?” The girl asked after a few twirls. The Inspector tore his eyes from Phryne for long enough to smile a content smile.

“She is quite fond of the necklace, it seems.”

“That was not really what I was asking, Inspector.”

The big brown eyes sparkled up at him in amusement. She really was quite pretty, Jack realised with some confusion, wondering if that was something he should be worrying about.

“It worked. I don't think she suspects anything.” He said vaguely, returning his gaze to where Phryne had moved on to Mr. Butler's arms, the couple blowing people away with their adventurous moves, as Dot watched on with some envy. He completely missed the other redhead that swayed by them just this very moment in Cec's firm grasp and the confused wrinkles appearing between her eyes.

And so Jack didn't see it coming, as little later, while trying to retrieve a drink for himself, a very urgent Doctor MacMillan appeared in front of him like a Medusa and dragged him into a quiet corner without a word of explanation.

“What is all this about?” He asked, watching the furious expression on her face unfold with some confusion. Her voice shook in anger, when she answered.

“I just wanted to remind you, Inspector, that I am in fact a doctor. I do know a lot about scalpels and needles and even bedpans. And I will make use of every single one of my abilities, if you should ever chose to betray Phryne. Are we clear?”

Jack's mouth fell open, his eyes widening in shock. His throat was so tight, that he struggled to even press the one sentence out.

“Whatever makes you think that I would?”

“I overheard what you whispered with Amber. And she might be young and impressible, even though I did think she was cleverer than this...”

He grabbed Elisabeth by the shoulders rather roughly, shaking his head urgently, which had the desired effect of bringing her to a stop.

“You got it completely, absolutely, utterly wrong, Doctor.”

He pulled something out of his pocket, flicking it open. This time it was Mac's turn to be shocked.

 

X

 

A bright moon hung in the black sky, when Jack Robinson stepped out into the garden. He sucked the warm night air into his lungs and wondered if the celebrations would be over soon. He had loved the wedding and being the best man had filled him with more pride than he cared to admit. But nevertheless, he longed to go home. It had been a long week. His hand played with a little box in his trouser-pocket. It was tempting, but he resisted. There was too much danger attached to opening it here, as much as he wanted to have another look at the sparkling black stone.

“Penny for your thoughts.” He heard a humorous voice behind himself, before a warm arm slipped around his chest.

“I fear, Miss Fisher, they were way more precious than that.”

In fact, said thoughts had cost him two days to hunt down across Melbourne and most of his savings to purchase, including the necklace as a beautiful and heartfelt distraction. Somehow he knew that it would take a lot more time for him to also save up enough courage to offer a proposition that most likely would be denied. Currently her body was making a very different one, as she snuggled against his back, leaning her hot cheek to his shoulder.

“You know, Jack, getting you to share your secrets can be like drawing blood from a stone.” She murmured, her softness revealing no real annoyance.

“I shall try harder to be predictable for you, Miss Fisher.” He promised, smiling up at the silvery globe that was hanging in the branches of a tree. Without tearing his eyes from the night sky, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, where he could feel her warm pulse beat against his skin in a calm, steady rhythm. He would share everything with her - but maybe not tonight.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
